


Sing My Song, Sweetheart

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, DJ/singer Eggsy, Gen, M/M, hella ridiculous, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step into one of the most popular nightclubs in London. Look around, spot the woman in charge. Go to her, ask for a moment of her time.</p><p>"I saw the sign... you guys are hiring, right?"</p><p>She tilts her head and looks thoughtful and critical.</p><p>"Well, that depends. Can you sing?"</p><p>~Temporarily on hold due to loss of files~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The one with all the hellos

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all like quick-writes and out-of-character interactions. xoxo

Eggsy sat on his bed and stared around, still marveling.

Not only did he have a new job, they’d given him a _room_. A full _suite_ , practically. The room was four times the size of his old one at mum and Dean’s, and there was a bathroom, and a large wardrobe, and a kitchenette with a sink. A _sink_.

And this space was _his_.

He thought he might die of happiness.

A happy coo gained his attention, and he had to grin. Daisy was enjoying crawling around in this clean, open area, where the only obstacles (besides the furniture) were his bags, her buggy, and the little basket holding some of her toys and a few blankets and clean nappies. Mum had asked him to babysit, and, since he had no intentions of stopping his unpacking, he’d brought Daisy with him and his last box. His little sister seemed as pleased with these surroundings as he was. Or maybe it was just that it was a new space and he wasn’t trying to corral her.

There was no reason to not let her explore, not yet. Eggsy had finished hanging and folding his clothes, so there were no hangars to suck on, and he’d left the bottom shelf of his bookcase empty. And the bed was the kind built like a box, with drawers underneath, so there was no space for her to crawl under and get stuck. She didn’t like the linoleum of the kitchen or the bathroom; he still kept the door to the latter closed. The rest was as baby-safe as he could make it.

Daisy stopped in the exact middle of the room, looked up at Eggsy, and laughed, smacking her little palms on the carpet. He laughed too and slid off the bed to lay on his stomach beside her.

“You like it here, Dais?” he asked, grinning as she burbled and patted at his nose. “Yeah, me too.”

After he got over these luxuries, his new boss, Roxanne, had told him he was to report downstairs, where he’d be introduced to his coworkers. Eggsy was just as excited about that as he was about the beauty of a toilet all to himself. When he’d first lied his way into the place, he’d been struck by how much _fun_ the band seemed to have, laughing and smiling as they played. And they were good, so good he didn’t care that there was no singer. Most of the other party-goers didn’t either, judging by the way they’d been bawling the lyrics.

 _Someone_ did, however, because when he’d had a few drinks and had begun to sing along too (mostly to spite the other drunk people with horrible pitch), somebody’d grabbed his arm and dragged him right up to the stage and shoved a mic in his hand.

And that was how Eggsy got the job of lounge singer in the fourth-most exclusive club in London.

He still didn’t understand it. But that was alright, because now he had his own flat, and a steady job with good money, and a VIP pass to every single nightclub, lounge, bar, and pub owned by the Hesketh family and their affiliates. He hadn’t survived this long without learning to accept gifts given and not look too closely at the hows and whys.

But fuck, it felt like those fuckin’ fairytales and books where the kid in the gutter gets snatched up and made a prince or an heir or whatever. He wasn’t an heir, but it still felt like a grand step.

He scooped Daisy up with one arm and rolled over on his back, standing her up so her feet were flat on his chest. She squealed and stamped, tiny heels drumming against his ribs; she quite liked this game that they’d begun playing a few weeks after she learned to crawl. Eggsy laughed and bounced her a little, singing baby-songs to her.

“A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go, heigh ho the dairy-o, a-hunting we will go! A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go, we'll catch a fox and put him in a box, and then we'll let him go!”

Daisy laughed and stamped harder.

When he finished the song he set up the little playpen mum had made him take, gave Daisy a kiss and all her toys, and put her in the pen. He hated leaving her alone, and the pen made him feel guilty, but he didn’t dare anger the people here so soon after this amazing show of generosity. So he dropped one more kiss on the top of Daisy’s head and left, making sure to lock the door. He’d folded her favorite blankets into a little bed for when she got tired; she’d probably take a nap while he was gone. Then they could sing together some more.

Eggsy looked up and down the hall and grinned. He wasn’t the only one who lived in the same building he worked at; there were five other doors, all leading into flats the same size or larger than his own. And this was only the second floor. There were four more above his, though the ones below belonged entirely to the club. A great solution to commuting, although Eggsy couldn’t help thinking that it would have been just as profitable for these floors to be rented out to people not employed here who needed to be in London at all hours, not just the fixed number required here.

But he wasn’t the owner of the building or business. So he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled to the lift. And that was another luxury! No longer having to climb up and down so many stairs at least twice a day, though he’d probably need to take a lot of walks to make up for that lack of exercise. He felt so spoilt, and it was only his second day here.

He had to bring mum to visit. He had to show her that there _was_ something better out there.

Plans were already building in the back of his mind when he stepped out of the lift on the first floor. There was a huge central common area with three circles of deeply padded bench-seats, each with a table in the middle, and the largest flatscreen Eggsy had ever seen on one wall. There was even a sidebar with a coffee machine, two electric kettles, a sink, and a huge selection of tea. Everything was shiny chrome and deep-hued wood, except for the blue cushions and carpet. Offices and meeting-rooms were ranged around the common room, all walled in glass that was sometimes frosted, sometimes clear. He hadn’t been allowed more than a glimpse of this floor, and he longed to explore (his fingers twitched to filch some of that tea), but Roxanne was leaning in the doorway of one of the frosted-glass meeting rooms, talking to someone inside; and when she saw Eggsy she beckoned, smiling faintly.

“Eggsy, come meet your new bosses,” she called.

He nodded and hurried over, casting a longing glance at the tea (when he bought his own kettle he was definitely coming to steal some) before entering the room cautiously.

The band was lounging around a long table. They all seemed in good humor, as far as Eggsy could tell, and that was comforting. Out of their fancy clothes and away from the spotlights he could see their individual styles and personalities.

The two guitarists, barely teenagers, were dressed much as Eggsy was, in casual clothes, though the woman was in shades of black and grey and the man was whites and pastel. They were alike enough that they could’ve been brother and sister, and curled in their chairs like satisfied cats. The flutist was a young woman in a deep purple dress who hid behind her long bangs and constantly ran her rainbow-dyed braid through her gloved hands. Eggsy remembered that she also played that long thing that wasn’t a flute—oboe, that was it. Her gloves were stormy grey and reached her elbows, though they were missing the fingertips. The trumpeter was punching one of the saxophone players’ shoulder; they seemed the Hearty Rugby Player types, one dark-haired and –skinned, the other pale with hair so light it seemed white. They wore very nice suits, with silk handkerchiefs tucked in their breastpockets. The second saxophone was reading a comic book and sporting a Darth Vader t-shirt. She didn’t bother looking up. The drummer was drumming the edge of the table with his fingers in a shifting rhythm, and had to keep pushing up the sleeves of his too-big, brown, fuzzy jumper. The violinist and cello player, in matching tracksuits of emerald green and maroon, were deep in conversation, playing Cat’s Cradle with a piece of yarn.

“Hey, new kid!” the female guitarist hailed him, raising her hand is greeting. She had an atrocious American accent. “’Sup? You like your new pad?”

Eggsy grinned at her. “Yeah, it’s fantastic,” he replied, aiming half of the comment at Roxanne, who was closing the meeting room door. She smiled briefly and pointed to an empty seat beside the violinist. He took it, and the violinist twisted enough to say over her shoulder, “Welcome to Hell.”

Laughs and smiles all around. Eggsy was too surprised to answer. But he didn’t have to, because everyone around the table introduced themselves to him quickly. The guitarists were Aaron and Erin, and yes, they were twins; flutist Mari waved shyly; Adio the sax player and Owen the trumpeter introduced each other, grinning; second sax Sadie made a noise like “Hnng” without looking up from her comic; Wallas nodded to Eggsy, every movement with a quick and nervous air like a small dog, except for his steadily drumming fingers; wry Bethany was on violin, and mild-mannered cello-fellow Cedric was her friend since childhood. Eggsy fixed names with faces and was glad to see that none of them seemed like confrontational people.

“A’right, everybody,” Aaron drawled, brushing imaginary dust off his lovely white trousers, “I think we deserve a sample of what our new toy can do. Give it a go, kid.”

Eggsy glanced to Roxanne, who rolled her eyes but nodded. So Eggsy stood (“Always stand when you’re singing or reciting! No exceptions!”) and sang the first song that came to his head.

“A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go, heigh ho the dairy-o, a-hunting we will go. A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go, we'll catch a fox and put him in a box, and then we'll let him go…”

When he finished the whole song, there was polite applause from everyone except Aaron, who roared with laughter and kicked the edge of the table. Erin drove her elbow into his stomach, hard, and he choked and shut up. Eggsy was glad he couldn’t blush.

“You’ve got a good voice,” Bethany commented, taking her turn with the yarn wrapped around Cedric’s hands. “Did you have a teacher or coach?”

Eggsy shook his head and sat. “Never cared,” he answered. “And we couldn’t afford it.”

“Remind me to get you an interview with my coach,” Roxanne said absently, scribbling on her clipboard. Eggsy was sure she was anything but ‘absent’. She was too sharp by half, he could tell already. There’d be no tea-thievery on her watch.

There was more conversation, about Eggsy’s role in the group. He was in “the grey area”, as Adio described it; not band, and thus not Stage, but not waiter, and so not Floor. He was _supposed_ to be Stage, but he was allowed to circulate and mingle on the Floor. Not for very long, but if the band was playing something instrumental or a song he couldn’t sing, he was encouraged to join the dancers, and get out of everyone else’s way. Aaron was the one to say, cheerfully, that if Eggsy ‘got in the way’ he’d be very displeased. Erin elbowed her brother again and assured Eggsy that he was just being an ass.

“Do you have any formal clothes?” Roxanne asked. Eggsy shook his head. “Hmm. I know a tailor who owes me; I’ll introduce you tomorrow. In the meantime, wear clothes without logos or writing.” She looked around at the others, and smiled. “That’s all I have written down. Does anyone have any questions?”

Mari raised on gloved hand a little, shyly. Roxanne nodded to her. “What’s our playlist tonight?” Mari inquired, her voice soft and unexpectedly low-pitched. “I didn’t get the email.”

That set off another round of talk, and Eggsy was quizzed on his repertoire so thoroughly that he felt wrung like wet laundry by the time the meeting ended and the group broke up to go their separate ways. Most left the building on errands or to stretch their legs, some went to their rooms, Roxanne went downstairs to talk to the day-manager, and Eggsy stuffed his pockets with tea bags after a furtive glance to make sure no one was watching. Then he moseyed to the lift and leaned against the back wall as it rose smoothly.

When he returned to his rooms, Daisy was asleep, having half-crawled onto the blanket-bed and just decided that was good enough. He smiled, moved her gently into a more comfortable position, and put all the tea in the small cupboard over the tiny stove. Then he went to his closet and sorted his clothes.

By the time he had separated ‘acceptable’ from ‘not acceptable’, he’d realized that he really should get some new clothes. He probably couldn’t afford that tailor, but he should be able to purchase a decent outfit, as long as nobody looked too close.

And he _would_ be able to, he realized with a delighted shock. Even sending mum that check he promised, he was living rent- and bill-free, which meant—

No. He was getting ahead of himself. He had to prove he was a good worker with talent that could get along with the others before he could start planning like he was here for longer than a week. He sighed, and turned, and had to smile at his little sister sleeping deeply. Quietly, he took apart the play pen. He realized he was going to miss having her around. He was going to miss having mum around, too.

But he was _out_. He was finally _out_ of that place, that stage of life, and he wouldn’t go back if he was offered a million quid or more.

But he _was_ out. He was alone now. Hadn’t he always been alone, though?

That was too close to self-pity. Eggsy laid down on his bed, put on his headphones, and listened to his iPod, closing his eyes as the music swirled all around and through him.

~~~\0/~~~

“I didn’t authorize his employment!” Charlie burst out, slamming his hand on Roxy’s desk.

“You didn’t authorize anyone else, either,” she replied coolly, leaning back in her chair and staring him down. “Really, what’s so wrong with Eggsy? He can sing, he’s eager, and I think he’ll fit in well. Have I ever been wrong about that kind of thing?”

Charlie muttered something unflattering, looking everywhere but at Roxy.

“There you are, then,” she replied, and sat forward to slide Eggsy’s contract across her desk. “Just sign the damn papers, and you won’t even have to look at him again.”

“He better work out,” Charlie growled threateningly, snatching a pen from the mug on Roxy’s desk to write his signature. “Otherwise I’ll sack him so fast his head’ll spin.”

Roxy rolled her eyes at the empty threat and pulled the papers back to herself. Charlie hadn’t made a single decision as to the running of this establishment since he hired Roxy to do so for him. He just liked to make threats because it made him feel superior and in control.

Charlie stomped to the door; then, with his hand on the doorknob, he whirled around and raised his hand, pointing at Roxy. “And another thing—!”

“Fuck off, Charlie,” she sighed wearily, typing in Eggsy’s information.

He did so, grumbling. Roxy took a minute to compose an email to Charlie’s father about their newest acquisition; in three more she had the old man’s terse approval. She smiled and sipped her tea.

~~~\0/~~~

On the way back from returning Daisy, Eggsy bought a cheap kettle with the last of his allowance and tried four different kinds of the tea in his cupboard. All four were delicious. He decided he liked the third one the best, and made another mug of it just because he could. He didn’t finish it, because somebody started pounding on his door and shouted, “Yo, Egg Man! Nearly time to come down! Getch yerself ready!”

“Be right there!” Eggsy called back, shoved his mug in the teeny microwave to keep it safe, and changed into his most ‘professional’ clothes. He slapped on his hat, paused, then took it off again and brushed his hair, something he hadn’t done in years. It felt weird.

But he was too excited to pay much attention. He almost ran into Aaron, standing in the hall, when he popped out of his rooms. Aaron looked Eggsy over, nodded, and flung his arm over the other’s shoulders, leading him to the lift. Eggsy hesitated, then returned the gesture. After all, why not? He could already tell he’d like the twins.

“The others already downstairs?” Eggsy asked.

Aaron nodded as he punched the down button. “Merlin’s getting’ everyone set up,” he answered, grinning. “Man, you’re gonna love Merlin. He’s a cool dude, fer all he gets so prissy ‘bout his microphones and speakers and all. Y’know, he’s got, like, ten patents,” Aaron added as the two boys stepped into the lift.

“More’n that,” Erin put in; she was already inside, standing next to the button panel. She punched Eggsy’s shoulder in greeting. “’Sup! Merlin’s got like fifty-seven patents or somethin’. You _were_ talkin’ about Merlin, right?”

“Yup,” Aaron confirmed, putting his free arm around his sister. She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Just tellin’ Egg Man that he’ll like him.”

“Who _doesn’t_ like Merlin?” Erin pressed the button to the ground floor and leaned around her brother to address Eggsy. “Don’t let his face scare ya. He’s a sweetheart. And if you rub his head you get five years of good luck!”

“Aww, Erin!” Aaron wailed, “Specify, specify!”

“You’re too dirty-minded,” she scolded back. “I meant the head with the face on it.”

Eggsy grinned. Yes, he was _definitely_ going to like it here.

The twins were loud, as most Americans were, but oddly did not swear as much as Eggsy had been lead to believe all Yanks did. It made him reluctant to swear too, although he let a few fucks slip; they didn’t even seem to notice.

All three youngsters stepped out of the lift to be met by Sadie. She looked Eggsy over carefully, popping her chewing gum, then nodded once, briskly, and led the way across the club to the stage. Eggsy was startled at how decadent everything looked in daylight; at night, with laser lights and fog machines and glittering people, the rich colors were hidden, and all the pretty little details faded. He liked it better at night.

This club _was_ open during the day, but not on weekends; this being the first Friday of Eggsy’s full employment, Roxanne had convinced the day staff to stay back a little, with pay, so they could inspect the new blood and be introduced. Erin whispered in Eggsy’s ear that this was because Charlie, the owner, had shouted at her and she was gathering impressions from all the staff as evidence.

“Don’t worry, she did the same for me an’ Aaron,” Erin added as he glanced at Roxanne, surprised. “She likes to prove him wrong, which he always is. I wanna be Roxy when I grow up.”

“Aren’t you grown already?” he whispered back, beginning to smile again in spite of himself.

“I’m nineteen, dumbass,” she retorted in a murmur, grinning back. “That ain’t nearly all the way grown.” Then she smacked him upside the head and skipped over to join her brother talking to a tall man in a jumper with leather patches. Eggsy guessed he must be Merlin, since he was showing them something about the plugs to the amps. His bald head was very shiny, just like if they rubbed it with polishing gloves for good luck. He also had a clipboard under one arm; maybe that’s where Roxanne picked up the habit.

“Eggsy, come here,” Roxanne called. He started, then shook himself mentally and strode over to her. A cluster of six people in white shirts and black trousers stood beside her, looking at Eggsy with misgivings. His chin rose, his eyes narrowed, he readied for a confrontation—then he saw Roxanne staring at him with a clear warning in her eyes. So he forced himself to relax, and not imagine all the various ways he could make them bleed. Roxanne lifted her Eye of Sauron glare from him and turned it on her other subordinates.

“This is Eggsy,” she told them as he stopped at a respectful distance. “He’s the new singer Charlie’s been complaining about already.”

“Common blood,” someone muttered.

“Good,” said a short man in front, turning to talk over his shoulder. “We need more common folk.” Then he faced front again and grinned, holding out his hand to shake. “I’m Calvin,” he introduced himself. His voice had the smallest trace of some accent, Welsh, maybe? Eggsy shook the offered hand without misgivings. Calvin seemed like a good sort.

Calvin and Roxanne introduced the five others, and it was clear which ones didn’t like him. Rufus and Digby turned up their noses and sneered at him. Mel tilted her head and looked at Eggsy thoughtfully, eyes half-closed, like a cat inspecting a child to judge if he was a tail-puller. Kikyo gave the tiniest of bows, which he returned, surprised; her mouth turned up just a little in a satisfied smile. Amelia offered a friendly smile and a firm handshake. All in all, Eggsy thought he could handle them if they ever met again.

After a quick overview of the rules, the day shift were dismissed; Eggsy didn’t see where they went because Roxanne led him to the stage to meet Merlin. The rest of the band were getting ready, giving their instruments one last shine or maintenance tweaks. Merlin was scribbling on his clipboard, and looked up when Roxanne and Eggsy approached.

“Ah, Roxy. This’ll be the new one,” the older man commented, looking Eggsy over. The youngster had the most uncomfortable feeling that he was being scanned for processing. “My name is Merlin. I am in charge of everything technological and electrical. The first, last, and cardinal rule is you do not adjust anything without my permission.”

Eggsy nodded, then forced himself to say, “Yessir.” The feeling of being processed lifted as he decided that Merlin was probably like the head of the sound department at the theater he used to volunteer at. How long did it take for managers to become aggrieved, bitter veterans? Eggsy wisely chose not to ask.

“Excellent. Get up there and we’ll work on the microphone,” Merlin ordered, jerking his head at the stage. Eggsy hopped up immediately. He had a feeling he would not survive any punishment Merlin dealt out for insubordination.

Apparently “work on the microphone” did not mean simply “adjust height and volume”; first the stand wasn’t tall enough, so Merlin sent Cedric to fetch another. That was a good height, but when Merlin told Eggsy to try speaking first, it apparently didn’t sound right. So Cedric took the microphone and went to exchange it with another. That one had no batteries; back Cedric went, and back he came, with an assortment of batteries because he couldn’t remember what size the microphone held. Merlin sorted through them and, through some strange techy magic, decided they were all dead. Cedric ran to replace them.

Eggsy was beginning to feel very sorry for Cedric.

Finally, Merlin was ready for Eggsy to sing something. Eggsy cleared his throat and tried—but the unexpected boom of his own voice from the speakers made him jump and choke. Merlin frowned and fiddled with something on a big remote he took out of his pocket; it was covered with buttons and dials and looked very expensive and complicated. Then he nodded, and Eggsy tried again.

“Happiness hit her like a train on a track; coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back. She hid it 'round corners and she hid it under beds, she killed it with kisses and from it she fled; with every bubble she sank with her drink and washed it away down the kitchen sink…”

It was the only song he could think of, and even if it didn’t ‘fit’ his voice, he liked it, and he knew it well, and Merlin seemed satisfied, fingers flying over his remote. Erin and Aaron started playing along, which meant more fiddling to balance them with him. Then the whole band started playing, and for some reason he felt an immense wave of… something. It was a little like pride, a little like gratefulness, and a little like intense kinship. But feeling their surge of music at his back buoyed him and made him sing louder and stronger. They almost blew out the speakers with their first practice. Roxanne looked _very_ pleased, and Merlin nodded his own version of approval.

Eggsy found that, while they didn’t _need_ him, he slid right into a slot that had been left open in the hopes someone like him would come along. That felt good. He was not the best, and he was not perfect, but he was good enough. For the first time since primary school, he was good enough.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry gave his assumed name at the door, and strolled slowly to his usual place. It wasn’t _his_ usual place, actually; but as long as Tristan was in the hospital, Galahad had to continue his work.

The mark was prone to dancing, but took frequent breaks for drinks. Their seat was therefore near the edge of the dancefloor. Harry didn’t like sitting in the middle of any area, so he sat in a small booth on the wall and watched everything like a hawk.

There was supposed to be a singer, finally. From the talk drifting to him from all directions, he gathered that it was a man, a boy, of the common class. The boy was not impeccable, but he was good enough, especially with a few drinks in him. Harry frowned at that. A drunk singer? Why was he still employed if he drank on the job?

Harry glanced down at the martini in his hand and decided not to judge on that score.

But the mark was excited to hear the singer, which was why they would be arriving early. Harry had a pass that let him in at any time (the Heskeths were so very understanding when the police were involved), so he always made sure to be here before the mark. He didn’t have to wait very long today; the mark and a few companions arrived soon after he did, and he watched them over the rim of his glass.

They settled at a table and continued their lively discussion on the latest fashions and fads, from clothes to cars to clandestine romances. Did children talk about anything else these days?

Harry sighed, and finished his drink. He’d placed a button-mic on the vase on the mark’s table; he could hear every word they spoke, but he didn’t quite care. This was the most boring surveillance he’d ever undergone. No—Paris had been more boring. Although Dubai was a close second… ah, but there was also that time wandering in Nigeria. The Philippines, they had been miserable, but not boring. Perhaps he’d go back sometime, and ask for extra vaccinations. Just in case.

A server was just pouring him a glass of champagne when the live band abruptly ended their song with a flourish. Harry looked up, frowning, and almost knocked the glass of champagne off his table.

Lee was at the microphone.

“Are you alright, sir?” asked the server.

“Yes, of course,” he replied shortly. No—no, not Lee, thank God. Thank God. He murmured a thank you and drained the glass in three long gulps. The server, having hesitated to eye him and make sure he really was alright, prudently gave him another refill, and then melted into the crowd. Harry sipped slower this time, trying to pass off the shock.

The boy on stage had begun singing. His voice was rough, but mellow, and he had no accent that Harry could detect. But he looked so much like Lee. He had the same shaped face, the same eyes, the same build. What was his name? Harry’s grip tightened on the stem of his glass until it almost snapped. _What was his name_?

“So what’s his name again?” asked the mark. Harry almost started again, having forgotten why he was there.

“Oh, something ridiculous, Eggy or something like that,” the mark’s companion drawled contemptuously. “He isn’t nearly as good as Samantha said.”

“Samantha can’t tell a loon from a raven,” someone else replied tartly. “You should never take her word on what sounds good.”

“Isn’t she a fan of that Sheeran kid?”

Harry stopped paying attention. His hands were shaking as he took another sip. Why? Why was he so rattled?

Eggy. They’d said Eggy. A memory sprang forward; a little boy with a snowglobe, and a woman weeping…

Harry stood, drained his glass, and left it on his table, working his way slowly and calmly through the club, around the dancefloor and past the bar. Merlin was lurking in a corner, fussing with some gadget. He saw Harry approaching, and flipped rapidly between surprise, welcome, suspicion, and understanding. Harry simply nodded, keeping his face blank.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to notice,” Merlin commented in way of greeting.

“You could have warned me,” Harry replied in a friendly tone.

“I thought you liked surprises,” Merlin retorted, quirking one eyebrow.

“You’re an ass.”

“Of course I am. Would you like to be introduced? Or shall you return to your table and glower at him until closing?”

“I don’t glower.” And he would never glower at Lee Unwin’s son even if he did. “How long has he been here?”

“Just a little over a week,” Merlin informed him, turning his head to watch the band. Harry found himself looking as well. That shirt was too big around, or the wearer was too thin. Lee’s boy sang on, oblivious to the two old men in the corner, eyes closed and face nearly rapturous as he sang something about loving someone forever. He was a very good performer.

Harry dragged his gaze to the dance floor, which was crowded now with people trying to dance and not really looking like they were succeeding. He could see the mark right in the thick of the flailing mass. That reminded him of his duties.

“What’s his name?” Harry heard himself ask abruptly, turning to look at Merlin again.

The other looked at him carefully for a moment before answering. “Gary, but everyone calls him Eggsy.”

Harry nodded serenely. “Excuse me,” he said politely, turned, and walked very carefully back to his table. People who looked at his face moved out of his way quickly. He sat, and beckoned for more champagne.

Eggsy Unwin, oblivious to how violently he’d shaken Harry’s worldview, had begun a new song, grinning. “Happiness hit her like a train on a track; coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back… she hid it 'round corners and she hid it under beds, she killed it with kisses and from it she fled…”

~~~\0/~~~

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost!” Erin exclaimed, reveling in her deliciously scandalous news.

Eggsy finished his tea before answering. He was parched, and his throat hurt, but no worse than usual. “I don’t really care what he looked like,” he answered her. “Got nothin’ to do with me.”

“Whadda ya mean, got nothin’ to do with you? He couldn’t take his eyes off ya!” Erin put her hands on her hips and scowled, obviously annoyed by Eggsy’s indifference. In the past week, Eggsy had learned that Erin was an expert gossip and always good for learning juicy (and mostly true) nuggets about coworkers and guests alike. When those nuggets concerned himself, though… he tended to lose interest. What did he care, if someone said they wanted to ‘take him up’? Why did it matter if someone glared, or muttered, or saw ghosts? Nah, it had nothing to do with him.

“He could have been staring at _you_ , E,” Sadie drawled, polishing her saxophone. She and Eggsy were not friends, but comrades, stoic and disagreeable in the face of their cheerful coworkers. Currently, they were sitting side by side on the edge of the stage while Floor staff wiped down tables and chairs and cleaned the floors. The rest of the band had, well, disbanded, and Cedric mopped the stage, humming tunelessly. This was the time Sadie and Eggsy had begun to use to complain bitterly together (it was delightful to have someone to exchange caustic words with), but Erin was too excited to hold her newest observation.

Erin scowled at the older woman. “Nuh-uh, I made sure,” she declared stoutly. “He was def staring at Eggsy. He even went over and talked to Merlin! I bet he asked your name. Maybe he even asked what time you were off! Maybe even your address! Maybe—“

“Maybe he’s just friends with Merlin,” Eggsy cut in before she spilled the wild notions her imagination was churning out so quickly.

Erin made a face, then whipped around and shouted, “MER-LIIIIIIIIIN! EGGSY DON’T BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAID THAT GUY WAS LOOKIN’ AT HIM!”

“Good for Eggsy!” Merlin’s voice replied irritably from the door to backstage. He never explained what he did back there, and he never allowed anyone else back either. And he did not take well to being interrupted, not even by his godchildren.

Sadie and Eggsy looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Foiled (for now), Erin instead launched into a detailed description of what she had observed through the night. Her audience not only included Eggsy and Sadie; Cedric drifted closer and leaned on his mop to listen, and when the Floor staff, a shift of seven, finished their work, they pulled chairs over and added observations. A lively session of unabashed gossip-mongering began, and went on for well over an hour.

Sadie excused herself graceful and traded a fist-bump with Eggsy before heading upstairs. He lingered, mostly because Bob the bartender, and father-figure for the entire staff, joined them with a tray of cups and his biggest teapot; all the little children claimed some as he joined them. Eggsy loved Bob’s tea. It was never the same mix twice, but it was always delicious. Merlin left his tinkering (he was dusty and cranky but still bearable) to beg a cup as well before retreating to his lair.

Six o’clock came. Bob shooed the Floor staff out with hugs and full thermoses, while Erin and Eggsy did the chair-straightening. Then Bob hugged Erin, clapped Eggsy on the shoulder, and bustled out himself.

Erin and Eggsy put their arms around each other’s shoulders and went in search of their respective beds.

Eggsy nodded off in the shower—those stage lights were _hot_ —but woke before he fell over and drowned. He barely managed to dry off fully before laboriously pulling on clean boxers and crawling under his blankets. His curtains were the light-blocking kind, and he slept a solid eight hours comfortably.

He had an odd dream. It was himself, when he was small, shaking his favorite snowglobe as two adults talked where he couldn’t hear. He had the vague feeling the woman was his mother, but he didn’t know the man. Mum was crying. The man stood and walked over to Eggsy. His face was a smudge; the clearest details were his plain black shoes and the ring on his finger, gold and glinting, and the medal. And his words.

_“Take care of this, Eggsy. And take care of your mum.”_


	2. The one with all the new emotions

“Well?” Roxy demanded, tightening her ponytail. “What was so important that you dragged me to a morning meeting with no warning?”

Charlie, still pacing at the front of the room, did not answer, mouth tight, eyes feverish. Roxy, sitting all the way down at the head of the conference table, leaned back in her chair slowly, linked her hands behind her head, put her slippered feet up on the edge of the table, and waited.

She knew it had something to do with the band, because she’d spotted him last night glaring at the stage as if they’d killed his parents. No, scratch that; Charlie didn’t love his parents enough. It was like someone up there had dismantled and burned his treasured WWI era plane. Whatever his sudden enimity, couldn’t it have waited until a more reasonable hour? She glanced at the clock, which read seven AM, and sighed quietly. She should not be up this early.

But, then again, noticing the shadows under his eyes and the way his hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it, neither should Charlie.

“I want him out,” Charlie barked, his jaw clicking audibly as he shut it hard and closed his lips like a miser’s purse.

“Who?” Roxy demanded, starting upright a little. Like hell was she sacking one of her musicians! Maybe radio and surround sound was good enough for the day crew, but the night custom depended on live music. Live music is magical, and forever more wonderful. Charlie could just go and threaten the day manager if he wanted to assert dominance.

“That… that _Eggy_ kid,” Charlie spat, each syllable hard and distinct. He didn’t stop pacing.

Roxy drew a breath to give him a right dressing-down—then she saw the emotion under his erratic anger, and began to laugh.

“What?!” her employer roared, spinning on his heel to glare at her. The effect was ruined by the tiniest quiver in his voice and the horror on his face. “What are you laughing at?!”

“You fancy him!” Roxy gasped, wiping her eyes. Her cheeks were starting to hurt, she was grinning so widely. “You actually _fancy_ him!” And she went into another gale of laughter as Charlie’s face turned a dull red and he babbled threats and denials. She paid no attention; she was running on two hours of sleep, and this was the funniest thing she’d heard in months. Charlie, in love with Eggsy! Oh, it was too much, it was just too much. She wanted so badly to run out and shout the news—

Her hand darted out and grabbed Charlie’s wrist as he went to slap her. Her laughter died instantly. “And what, exactly, was that going to be for?” she asked very softly, staring him down.

“Insubordination,” he snarled, trying to yank free. Roxy dug her nails between the tendons of his wrist, and he stopped, wincing.

“Oh, really?” She stood, twisting his arm as she did so; Charlie was unused to pain, and especially pain from a woman. He bit his lip, trying not to grimace. “You forget, Charles Hesketh; your papa owes mine, which means _you_ owe _me_. And if you try to treat me the way you do your poor little housemaids again, I will break. Your. Arms.”

She turned his arm more, digging her nails in deeper. Her middle finger had pierced his skin, and blood was welling up beneath her fingertip. Charlie glanced at his arm and away, the muscles in his neck and jaw so tight they stood out. Roxy nodded and let go of him. “Was there anything else you needed?” she asked, completely calm.

Charlie shook his head stiffly.

“Then I’ll be getting back to my work. Good day to you, Charlie.” She turned and exited the meeting room.

She had her own private lavatory off her office. The perks of being the boss. She washed her hands, and frowned at their trembling. She had never stood up to him quite that fiercely; but he’d never tried to lay hands on her before. And she’d meant it. If he tried to slap or hit her again, he would be needing double casts. Perhaps she’d break his hands, too. That would keep him from “smartening up” his house staff.

And much as Roxy longed to go warn Eggsy _right now_ , she knew it wouldn’t be as helpful as waiting until after tonight’s performance. Let him go onstage with a clear mind. She’d have a plan by then.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy woke up grumpy.

He thought a shower would help, but it just made him grumpier because the water was too cold. He nicked his chin while shaving, which made it worse. Then he burned his tongue on his wake-up tea, and he decided that today was going to be horrid.

And it was. None of his favorite clothes were clean, so he had to wear a too-big shirt and a too-small pair of jeans. He spilled milk trying to pour it on his cereal. They were beginning roadwork outside the building, and the noise dug into his ears and made him want to scream. He couldn’t find his keys, and spent half an hour throwing things and cursing before he found them in his pocket. As he was tying his shoes, he bent over and heard a ripping sound; the seat of his jeans had split.

He changed into a pair of sweats, fuming, and stomped out. He turned his key a little too viciously, and yanked it out violently. Then he headed to the stairs. He didn’t think he could take standing motionless in the lift right then.

His shoes stamping on the metal steps made very satisfying noises that echoed off the tiled walls.

He left the building through a side door, to avoid the roadwork and also because the damp, dirty alleys fit his mood. Except this alley wasn’t dirty enough. Now, back home, he wouldn’t have trouble finding places dark and grubby enough to suit him…

He decided to visit the Black Prince.

Feeling reckless and impulsive, Eggsy began the trek to his old neighborhood.

It took longer than he’d expected. He was beginning to think he should turn back when he spotted the corner where he used to wait and meet up with Jamal and Ryan. It’d been a week since he’d last seen them. Maybe they’d be at the pub. That thought put a bit more energy into Eggsy’s reluctant legs, and he went eagerly forward.

Afternoon was waning as he stepped cautiously inside. While most of the other tables and booths were occupied, the table he and his friends had claimed as their own was deserted. In fact, he saw with a start, it hadn’t been used in a while; it had the look like it hadn’t been wiped, and the chairs were tucked in neatly. The impulsiveness of before was starting to fade, but he refused to back out now. So he strolled up to the bar, and before he could say anything the barman grinned and said, “Hoy, Eggsy! Haven’t seen you around lately. The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Eggsy replied, startled and pleased that he’d remembered. “I got a job, late hours; first day I’ve got time off.”

“Good for you! First pint’s on the house.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy repeated, feeling much better. This was a good idea after all. He sat at his table with his beer and looked around. This place was… comfortable. Memories, good and bad and indifferent, resurfaced; the beer in his hand tasted the same as it always had, the smell of alcohol-soaked wood was the same, even the windows were still half-grimed. Nothing had changed here. Nothing was going to. This pub hadn’t altered in two centuries, and that felt good. Eggsy relaxed. The club was exciting… but this was home turf.

He drank three pints and only paid for two. He said a cheerful goodbye to the barman and those regulars who remembered him, and strolled out into the chilly evening. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to get back in time. So he shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. He’d made it two streets before he laughed at his own folly, and stepped up to the edge of the pavement to wave down a taxi. He still had enough money in his pocket to make it there.

Eggsy had chosen wisely. The taxi had only just rejoined the flow of traffic when a rumble split the air, and the clouds that had been gathering all day began pissing down. He looked out the window and shivered. Those without umbrellas seemed hunched and miserable as they hurried to and fro; those with umbrellas seemed just as miserable, but not hunched over turning up their collars. And Eggsy was encased in metal and plastic, enjoying pleasant warmth and complete dryness.

Maybe it was the beer making him so uncharitably smug.

There was a short line outside the club, and they all looked annoyed. Eggsy handed over his fare as the taxi slid to a stop, jumped over the gutter, and held the door as two ladies and a man, all Eggsy’s age, immediately darted inside. When they were gone he strode right up to the door to the club. David, checking names on a list, grinned at him and nodded, stepping out of the way. Eggsy nodded back and went inside before he got too soaked.

He was late. The band were already playing. He winced, and hurried across the club to the door to the stairs. He’d only just put his hand on the knob when someone laid their umbrella gently but firmly across his wrist. He looked up, his bad mood from earlier returning in a flood, but stopped himself before he started yelling.

The person with the umbrella was an older gentlemen, eyeing him with the same steely processing stare as Merlin had used, on Eggsy’s first day. Except this man’s was colder, and Eggsy felt himself tensing automatically, ready for a fight.

“You’re Eggsy?” the old man asked, and his voice—something about it was familiar.

“Yeah,” Eggsy replied shortly, still too surprised.

“If you would inform Roxanne that I wish to speak with her as soon as possible, I would be very grateful,” the old man said, and lifted his umbrella. Eggsy still didn’t move.

“I ain’t telling her some nameless old bloke said to talk,” he snapped.

“Just so,” the old man answered, making Eggsy blink; then, with a flick of his fingers, a folded rectangle that looked like a pound note appeared between his fingers. Eggsy took it warily, and bit his lip as he saw the number 50. “Tell her Galahad asked.”

Then the old man with the umbrella melted into the crowd, and even though Eggsy’s head jerked up and he looked around with wide eyes, it was like he’d never existed.

Thoroughly confused, Eggsy retreated up the stairs, crumpling the note in his fist. Fifty quid to tell Roxanne that some geezer calling himself “Galahad” wanted to talk to her. He couldn’t tell if he should be flattered or insulted.

Roxanne wasn’t in her office. Eggsy scowled, but he didn’t feel like trying to hunt her down, so he dug in his pockets until he found his paperclip and picked the lock on her office door. Then he snuck in and wrote the message on the back of a random piece of paper. Then he left, locking the door behind him, and stumbled to the lift. He was beginning to feel the effects of those three pints a little more.

When he reached his rooms, he changed clothes as fast as he could without falling over and shoved the fifty pounds in his dresser’s top drawer. Then he headed back downstairs.

He had to wait until the band finished the latest song before creeping forward to present himself humbly to Merlin the Ever-Watchful. Merlin smacked Eggsy upside the head with his clipboard, then shooed him on stage.

“Melt With You,” Erin whispered as Eggsy adjusted the microphone’s height. He nodded, and hummed a few bars, grinning as half the club cheered. He organized his mind as the first notes played behind him, and started singing.

“Moving forward using all my breath, making love to you was never second best; I saw the world thrashing all around your face, never really knowing it was always mesh and lace…”

He might have been slightly drunk, but on stage, his head cleared; maybe it was the hot lights, maybe it was the music right in his ear, maybe it was being watched by so many people. Whatever it was, he managed a credible performance all night without a single hiccup. He was quite proud, actually.

When closing came and the last guest trickled out, Eggsy tried to jump off the stage and almost fell down, clutching the edge and waiting for a sudden wave of dizziness to pass.

“You’re wasted,” Aaron stated bluntly, sitting down with a thump and dangling his legs off the edge of the stage, pulling off his guitar-strap.

“Three pints isn’t wasted,” Eggsy retorted, tugging at his collar. It was too tight. He couldn’t wait to take off this shirt; it was one of Wallas’ hand-me-downs, since he was the closest in build and Roxanne’s tailor friend had yet to show his face. “The only way to waste that much is to throw up, and I ain’t done that yet.”

“For which we are all grateful,” Bethany commented dryly, hopping down next to Eggsy. “How’d you put away that much so quickly?”

“Practice,” he answered archly, and managed to walk exactly three yards before another dizzy spell hit. Merlin grabbed the back of his collar before he pitched over.

“I am very disappointed in you, Eggsy,” Merlin informed him, casually, almost friendly. Quietly, the others started packing up and getting ready to run. Eggsy hung in Merlin’s grip and waited miserably for his punishment. “Drinking _on_ the job, I don’t mind, because we can control how much you have. Drinking _before_ the job…” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Unprofessional doesn’t _begin_ to cover it. Now, it’s not in my power to suspend you, nor can I bring out any canes, but what I _can_ do is put you on morning detail as well.”

“Aw, Merlin—“

“Don’t “aw Merlin” me, lad. You brought this on yourself. Shower and dress, then report downstairs again. I’ll inform Roxanne that you have volunteered your time out of the goodness of your heart. Go on.” And he let go of Eggsy’s collar, pushing him forward. Not at all hard, just enough to make him stumble.

Scowling, but unwilling to argue, Eggsy trotted off to do as he was bid. Knowing Merlin, if this punishment went unfulfilled, he’d think up something especially nasty, and probably more humiliating. Better to get it over with quickly.

Somewhere in his emergency stack of clothes, he found a white shirt, and black trousers. He showered quickly, and brushed his teeth to banish some of the smell of alcohol on his breath. Maybe Bob would be nice and put him to something easy and quiet. Probably not. But he could hope.

~~~\0/~~~

“Come in!”

Harry entered the office and nodded hello as Roxanne frowned quizzically at him. “Roxanne Morton? I’m Galahad.” He walked to the desk and held out his hand. She stood and shook it, then waved for him to take a chair.

“Yes, I… got your message,” she said, sitting back down again slowly as he settled, still frowning a little. “Although it was a bit vague.”

Harry repressed a smile. “I thought it might be. Have you been informed as to Tristan’s… situation?”

“Tristan?” Roxanne looked at him sharply, then answered carefully, “Only that he was indisposed. Is there something further I or Mr. Hesketh should know?”

“Tristan has taken ill, and is in recovery. I have been asked to, ah, pick up where he left off.” Harry took Arthur’s card out of his pocket and set it on the desk, sliding it forward.

Roxanne’s brow smoothed and she nodded as she picked up the card, inspecting it carefully. Then she looked up at Harry again and smiled pleasantly. “I’ll inform Mr. Hesketh. Is there anything you require?”

“Only that you find someone who can mix a proper martini,” Harry replied dryly, and was rewarded with a wider grin.

“I know just the man,” Roxanne promised, with a hint of unholy glee. “Welcome, Sir Galahad, and thank you.”

~~~\0/~~~

Within twenty minutes of his “volunteering”, Eggsy decided he was going to have to think of a suitable way to get back at Merlin, for this surpassed punishment and went straight to torture.

At first, Bob took pity on poor, cranky, exhausted Eggsy, and set him to work as table-wiper and floor-mopper. There was, thankfully, very little of this work needed. But he’d barely begun when Kikyo got an urgent phone call, and Eggsy was hustled behind the bar to take her place pouring and mixing drinks. The male patrons were angry that the pretty lady had been replaced by this sullen boy, the women were disappointed that he wasn’t cuter, and Eggsy was almost to the point of mutiny. He was, however, fiendishly delighted when the grumblers realized his cocktails were far superior to Digby’s. And Digby couldn’t do shit about it.

Eggsy was pouring an A-Bomb with one hand and garnishing a Mojito with the other and pretending not to see Digby’s glares when the geezer with the umbrella slid up to the bar and requested, “Martini, please.”

He narrowed his eyes at him, but nodded, handed the two finished cocktails to their respective drinkers, and set about making a proper martini. Merlin himself had taught Eggsy, and he was very proud of his new skill.

Digby bumped into Eggsy, making him knock over the martini. “Oops,” Digby said innocently. “Sorry.”

Something deep inside snapped.

Very calmly, Eggsy righted the glass, and set a towel on the puddle. Maybe something showed on his face, and that was why everyone but the geezer with the umbrella stepped back.

Digby had turned his back, talking to a pretty girl. Eggsy faced him, gauged the distance, then took a step and kicked up between Digby’s legs.

The other went down with strangled squeak, knocking over a bottle of champagne as he collapsed. Gasps and shrieks, and a strange scramble as some people recoiled and some lurched forward to see what had happened, met this chain of reactions.

Eggsy waited until Digby had managed to haul himself to his feet and turn, wobbling, to gape at Eggsy, cradling his injured manhood. “Oops,” Eggsy said. “Sorry.”

Digby stared for another minute, then lunged and tried to punch Eggsy. He ducked, slammed his elbow into Digby’s stomach, and kneed him in the groin. This second assault was too much, and Digby decided to lie down, whimpering.

Eggsy stepped over him and, picking up a clean glass, poured a new martini, and handed it to the man with the umbrella. He raised the drink in a kind of mock salute and walked away from the bar. Eggsy turned to the other patrons.

“Sorry about that,” he said lightly. “Can I get anyone anything else?”

~~~\0/~~~

On the inside, Harry was roaring with laughter. On the outside, he sipped his martini slowly and watched out of the corner of his eye as Eggsy resumed serving drinks, with a sudden relaxed calmness that made most people nervous. Harry recognized it as that of a person who has finally done something he has been longing to do for a very, very long time.

Hiding a grin, Harry took another sip. It was a very well-made martini.

~~~\0/~~~

The incident was reported, of course. Eggsy was pulled from bar duty and got a scolding from Bob, which hurt and made him ashamed, and then another from Merlin, which just made him resentful, until he realized Merlin was trying very hard to fight a smile. Then he was sent up to Roxanne’s office for a reprimand, but when Eggsy explained she burst out laughing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for _years_!” she laughed, folding the paper in front of her into a thin strip and ripping it in half. “I can’t punish you for that, I’d never forgive myself. Alright, pretend to be sorry, and I’ll pretend to be disappointed, and if you apologize in front of witnesses I’ll make sure Charlie never finds out.” Then her smile dimmed, and Eggsy had the distinct impression that she wasn’t really paying attention anymore.

“Um…” he said.

Roxanne blinked, and all traces of levity left her face. She looked at Eggsy again, but now she had on the universal What Am I Going To Do With You? face. “Maybe he’ll reconsider now,” she murmured to herself. Then she sighed and shook her head. “No, forget it. Eggsy—be careful around Charlie. He’s… not been feeling well.”

Startled by this change of topic and turn of phrase, Eggsy just said, “Alright.” He hesitated, then added, “Will this make him sack me?”

The corner of Roxanne’s mouth curled up in a mocking smirk. “He’s never _stopped_ trying to sack you,” she answered frankly. “But I’m not sure how he’ll react if he hears about this. So be careful for now. Oh, and no more kicking people in the family jewels unless so ordered. Is that understood?”

Eggsy gave a proper military salute, and barked “Yes SAH!”

Roxanne smiled a little. “Get out, insubordinate cur,” she ordered. “Sleep it off, then apologize.”

He nodded and went to do as he was bid. But he couldn’t stop wondering at her sudden change of mood. Why was she so worried? _What_ was she so worried about? He didn’t dare ask. So he went to his rooms, stripped, fell on to his bed, and was asleep in minutes.

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy tore the paper slowly into smaller and smaller pieces, frowning at the door and thinking.

She couldn’t tell Charlie. And she wouldn’t. But she couldn’t stop Digby from dodging around her. And even putting aside Charlie—why the sudden outburst _now_ , of all times? Eggsy had been perfectly reasonable, even if he was gruff sometimes; all friction and conflict could be removed and forgotten with judicious amounts of alcohol and some dirty jokes. Why this unexpected, uncalled for violence?

Roxy swept up the torn bits of paper and dumped them in the little bin under her desk. Sometimes it felt like she would never understand men.

~~~\0/~~~

Over the next few weeks, Eggsy realized a few things.

One was that, after the initial shock, most people got tired of Digby’s dramatic wailing. Another was that Eggsy now had what Erin called “admirers” and Aaron called “wannabe sugar-parents”. Sometimes people would come up to him as he was taking a break or if the band finished early and chat him up. Since these people usually brought new and interesting drinks with them, he didn’t much mind.

A third thing Eggsy noticed was that, if the infamous Charlie Hesketh himself was present, he would stare at Eggsy most of the night in a way that made him very, very uncomfortable.

But someone else stared, too—or rather, watched him placidly from the sidelines. The man with the umbrella, Galahad. He never felt threatening, and Eggsy was never sure if he should be glad or wary.

The fourth thing he discovered was that, during breaks, if he got tired of flirting, he was allowed behind the bar to mix drinks. At first he only did this for himself, but soon he found himself making drinks for those he’d judged as good people to be friends with, and later he overheard that it was now considered “an honor” to have a drink made by him.

He was never too busy chatting or mixing to forget to make a martini for Galahad.

In fact, he began to enjoy Galahad’s presence. He never sought the man out, and the other rarely intruded, preferring to slip into quiet moments to exchange a few words before ceding to another, but he was… nice. Sometimes he was funny, but mostly he was just something passive and solid in this energetic, kinetic place. Eggsy found himself smiling whenever he saw Galahad. Even on the nights where they simply nodded hello, he always felt a little steadier, if only for a few minutes.

Eggsy met up with Ryan and Jamal several times, and every time, no matter if they were getting lunch or drinks or simply wandering the shops, he always bought more than his share. He couldn’t help it; he was so surrounded by opulence when he was working that he had to fight not to criticize their jobs and paychecks, and the best way to do that was make sure they weren’t broke before next payday. Ryan was delighted; Jamal began to frown a little every time Eggsy took out his wallet, but he never refused to let Eggsy pay.

Eggsy visited mum faithfully, choosing times when Dean was out, and gave her all the best gossip from the club. Then they talked about family and mum’s friends, and Daisy. He spoiled them, too, especially Daisy, and helped mum with the bills. Roxy—she’d commanded him firmly to call her that now, because there was really no point to standing on formalities anymore—quietly gave him a raise so he could continue assisting mum without dipping into his steadily increasing savings.

It felt so strangely marvelous and freeing, being able to support other people as well as himself. He never got tired of seeing the relief on mum’s face when they went through the accounts and found that yes, she would have extra after taxes and bills.

_“Take care of your mum.”_

He would. He did. He was.

His days of good temper began to outnumber the bad. He still liked to sit and complain with Sadie, and gossiped eagerly with Erin and Aaron, but he started going to the gym with Adio and Owen occasionally too, and while they taught him how to build muscle, he showed them the stretches and exercises he remembered from gymnastics, for staying limber and relatively toned. Owen couldn’t touch his toes, and scowled good-naturedly when Adio managed to tuck his fingertips under the toes of his trainers, while Eggsy practiced doing the splits.

And then one night Galahad didn’t show.

Eggsy waited all night, steadily getting more anxious and annoyed; none of it showed in his singing, and he was fairly sure he was able to keep it from his face when he spoke to anyone, but he couldn’t help glancing around constantly. Where _was_ he?

When he slid behind the bar for a drink, he decided he didn’t want anything complicated, and instead poured himself a whiskey before starting on Cornelius’s cocktail and Natalie’s daiquiri. Automatically, he put together a martini, before remembering that no one was there to drink it. So he drank it himself, and tried not to feel too annoyed. Maybe Galahad got tired of coming. Maybe he decided it was boring. Maybe he had a previous engagement, or even just made one up so he didn’t have to come.

Eggsy realized with an ugly shock that he actually felt _hurt_.

He set down his glass immediately, excused himself, and went straight to the lavatory. Someone was throwing up, and another man was curled up snoring under the sinks, and another was washing his face and the back of his neck. Automatically Eggsy checked to make sure—but they were people he didn’t know. So he went and locked himself in a stall and sat on the tank of the toilet, arms crossed on his knees, and stared at the door.

So what if Galahad wasn’t here? He was just another regular. Surely he had a job of his own. That’s right, hadn’t he made some offhand comment about a tailor shop? He was probably working. Or maybe he’d worked late, and he decided to go home instead of to the club. It probably had nothing to do with Eggsy.

Why did he even _care_? They weren’t friends. They didn’t drink together, they never conversed for long. Galahad had never even made a song request. And he was too old for—for—

Eggsy’s throat tightened suddenly. Oh. Oh god.

He buried his face in his hands and stayed sitting on the toilet for a long time. Long enough that someone started banging impatiently on the stall door, and then started cursing in a slurred voice. Long enough that someone stopped the cursing person and called, “Hey, Egg Man, you in there? You gotta come outta there, man, they’re counting on ya!”

They? “They” didn’t matter. He was going through an emotional crisis. Couldn’t they see that?

“Look, I know he ain’t here, but you gotta come sing, man!” Was it his imagination, or did Aaron sound a little desperate? “We’ve been holdin’ ‘em, but it’s no good, we need ya!”

“No you don’t,” Eggsy mumbled, too quietly for Aaron to hear.

“Don’t make me get Cedric to kick this damn door in!” Aaron threatened, and Eggsy was startled to realize the younger boy was actually angry. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Aaron get angry.

But the threat was real. Slowly, Eggsy slid off the tank and unlocked the door, hoping his face was properly sullen. He didn’t want to show anyone how confused and scared he really was. And who had Aaron meant with “he ain’t here”? No, it didn’t matter; don’t think about it, for the love of god, don’t think about it. He was Eggsy Unwin, club singer, and he was _not_ going to think about if other people had known before he did.

Aaron didn’t even take a moment to assess Eggsy’s appearance or whatever emotions might be on his face, simply grabbing the other’s arm and dragging him back out into the club.

Eggsy’s eyes immediately jumped to Galahad’s usual table. It was empty. His throat tightened even more, until he could hardly breathe—but then someone, Sadie, was shoving a glass in his hand. He drank all of it automatically, not even knowing what it was. But it made every tight muscle and wound-up organ relax as it burned down his throat; and by the time Aaron had hustled him to his spot, he was able to shove every thought and emotion far, far away, and focus on the music.

He thought he did well, considering the circumstances.

Afterwards, he fell dull and dazed; whatever they’d given him to drink had burned him out completely. He couldn’t even smile when Samantha, one of his biggest fans and best friend among the guests, gave him the usual goodbye hug, although he managed to return the gesture.

Owen and Adio escorted Eggsy upstairs, mostly to remind him when it was time to get out of the lift and stop him before he walked right past his own door. He remembered his keys, and how to use them, and that he had to turn the handle to open the door, but after that he just… drifted away again, and Owen had to nudge him to get him to enter. He walked to his bed and sat down on the edge and kicked off his shoes, but then he couldn’t get up. One of the others, he couldn’t tell who, took his keyring and removed his door key. Then both of them left, and locked his door, and kicked the key in underneath.

Eggsy stared at the far wall and drifted in a sea of fuzz. At some point, he calmly accepted that, yes, he liked Galahad very much, and no, there was absolutely no chance of him ever returning Eggsy’s feelings. In the safe sea of fuzz, that didn’t hurt. He simply accepted it as true.

He’d just realized that he had never heard Galahad laugh when he slumped over sideways and passed out.

~~~\0/~~~

“Is he alright?” Roxy asked, slightly alarmed. She had not expected to walk out of her office to be met with half the staff, Stage and Floor, nor to have them all start babbling at once; the only clear thing she had picked out was that something was wrong with Eggsy. It couldn’t be serious, though, or someone would have called an ambulance instead of everyone coming to tell her. But their anxiety was infectious, and she crossed her arms, pressing her clipboard to her chest as she looked at her people.

“I gave him one of my mama’s mixes,” Sadie assured Roxy, her arms also crossed tightly. Her usual disinterest in the world was replaced by a glimmer of worry. “He was fine after that. But before…”

“It was ‘cause Old Man G wasn’t here!” Erin burst out. Aaron slapped her upside the head, and she slammed her elbow against his chest, making him cough.

“Old Man G?” one of the servers, Johanna, asked, surprised.

“Galahad,” Roxy explained, and looked all of them. She began to feel distinctly uneasy. “Galahad wasn’t here?”

Half of those present shook their heads. “I’d of seen him,” David answered, scratching the back of his neck. “Eggsy, he was looking around too.”

“He always comes up when Eggsy’s mixing,” barmaid Bailey put in, pulling and twisting her sleeves. “He says he makes the best martinis. But he wasn’t here tonight.”

“Maybe he got held up,” Aaron suggested lamely, still rubbing the spot where Erin had hit him. “Like, at work or somethin’.”

Roxy shook her head slowly, not really seeing any of them anymore. “No… that’s probably not it,” she replied absently, thinking quickly. She had no way to contact Galahad, and she was sure Kingsman would not appreciate a civilian calling to check on one of their agents.

Merlin. Roxy straightened and snapped, “Where’s Merlin?”

“Downstairs still,” Johanna answered. “But—what about Eggsy?”

“One of you go bring Merlin up. I’ll check on Eggsy myself.” Roxy strode to the lift, hoping none of them had heard that edge of worry in her voice. Galahad was important, but Eggsy was more so. Working on the problem of Galahad’s absence was just a distraction.

She hoped Sadie’s ‘mix’ hadn’t put him out so deeply she couldn’t wake him again.

Merlin was waiting outside Eggsy’s door when Roxy got there. She’d stopped asking long ago how he did that; instead she asked, “Got a key?”

Merlin held out a paperclip. Roxy gave him a disgusted look and instead pulled a pin from her hair, ignoring how a lock promptly popped out of place to fall in her eyes. It was easy to pick the door; Roxy had made sure she knew each lock by heart before giving the keys to their respective owners. She had Eggsy’s door opened in a trice, and led the way inside.

It was dark, and unexpectedly stuffy, and Eggsy was sprawled on his bed, out like a light. Roxy strode right in, stepping over indistinct piles of whatever on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed. Merlin closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights.

“Eggsy?” Roxy shook the other’s shoulder gently. “Eggsy, can you wake up for a minute?”

Slowly, and with much prompting, Eggsy woke, only opening his eyes a slit as he peered at his visitors. “What the hell?” he mumbled. “I wuz havin’ good dream.”

“I just need to ask you about Gala—“

Eggsy sat up, crawled out of bed, went into the bathroom, knelt by the toilet, and began to puke violently. Roxy winced and looked away; that would be Sadie’s mix, then. Merlin watched the boy with a thoughtful expression. Then Merlin turned to Roxy and said dryly, “I doubt I will be much help in this conversation.”

“I just need you around long enough to reassure him you can contact Galahad,” she replied, heavily, but quietly so Eggsy wouldn’t hear. “Then you can disappear into the morn as usual.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth curled up. “I wonder if he realizes how bad his acting is.”

“I don’t think he even knew before tonight.”

Merlin blinked, his version of showing surprise. Roxy raised one eyebrow at him. “He’s as retrospective as a child,” she told him tartly. “And, much as I hate to say it, Galahad’s absence might have been the best way to make him realize things for himself.”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but the sounds of vomiting had been replaced with coughs and spitting, and then the sound of the toilet flushing. Roxy and Merlin turned to the bathroom as Eggsy leaned heavily against the doorframe, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked dully, “And can we do it sitting down?”


	3. The one with all the flowers

If Eggsy needed a more concrete assurance that this absence was unusual, Merlin’s closing comment that he was going to contact Galahad was it. He still didn’t quite know why the two of them were here, in his room where the door had most certainly been locked, except that Roxy seemed to be both scolding him and trying to get him to admit to something. He wasn’t sure what, so he stubbornly stuck to his most sullen expression and voice and hoped they’d go away.

Merlin’s tongue-lashing was short but painful, and then he left. Roxy stayed, and kept talking to Eggsy. He was thoroughly confused by this tactic, but he couldn’t very well throw her out; and for some reason he didn’t really want to be alone. Maybe it was the dullness that still sat in his head and sometimes took him out of the world. Roxy was good at bringing him back.

“I think there was something in that drink Sadie gave me,” he mumbled.

“There always is,” Roxy sighed. “She might tell you what if you ask.”

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to nobody,” he muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He had the sudden urge to kick Roxy—but she’d kick back, and then she’d make his life Hell, and anyway, he needed somebody to talk to, somebody who—who—

He braced his forehead on his knees, hiding his face, and tried not to feel the sudden ache in his chest.

“Eggsy…” Another sigh. Then Roxy stood, set down her clipboard, and hugged him firmly. This was so startling that his head jerked up and he stared at her, as well as he could with her arms around him. She glared back, and pushed his head down to her shoulder. He let her, and felt very stiff and awkward…

“Eggsy, it’s not really a secret to most of—“

…and then he started crying, to his utter horror and eternal shame.

It wasn’t all-out sobbing, but he did whimper a little, and a few tears leaked out to creep down his face and drip from his chin. Roxy murmured something in a soothing tone of voice and just held him.

The dull fuzz shrank, compressed, shot out through a vacuum tube, and left him all raw and bleeding inside. He didn’t like it. He was angry at it, and at himself, that he’d hurt this much over a stupid little thing like—but it wasn’t little, and it wasn’t stupid. Eggsy wasn’t a stranger to infatuation, but he’d never had it creep up so slowly and quietly before. And it hurt more this way. It was _infuriating_ , but he couldn’t stop it. And that was scary.

Fuck, he was so scared.

He ran out of tears quickly, but not fear and anger. He wanted to punch Galahad for doing this to him—and then maybe kiss him—no, no, no kissing, kissing wasn’t allowed. But what _should_ he do, when next he saw him?

“I dunno what to do,” he mumbled. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—I just—“

“We thought that might be it,” Roxy sighed. “Look, Eggsy, I’m sure it’s not common knowledge, but there are some of us who saw it was a possibility. We haven’t told anyone, and especially not him; that’s for _you_ to figure out. But now you know too. I won’t tell you what to do, because I’m not in your head, or his, but I _will_ tell you that whatever you choose to do, we’ll support you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, and he felt a little better. “You’re stuck with us, you goose. The least we can do is not act like pricks.”

He nodded and let his head fall back on her shoulder. He was glad he had friends.

~~~\0/~~~

Merlin was very annoyed.

It was one thing for Harry to flirt with Eggsy; it was another to make the boy fall for him. There was no call for such cruelty. Even if Harry felt the same— _especially_ if he did, actually.

They’d each made an oath upon being accepted into Kingsman. No attachments. No lovers, no spouses, no significant others of any kind. Attachments were weaknesses. Weaknesses could be exploited. Exploitation usually meant something nasty and painful.

Merlin muttered curses that would have shocked even Eggsy as he stalked through the door to backstage. Past all the expected equipment and dust, beyond the air ducts and piping, deep where no one else dared tread, Merlin’s lair waited.

He flipped a switch, and four screens blipped into wakefulness, terminals humming and alive, the keyboard and other controls outlined discreetly in green. Setting his clipboard to one side, he settled in his chair and sighed happily. Here was his hub, the point from which he could control the whole building. Here was also the only truly secure network in the whole of the British Isles. Merlin patted the bank of controls fondly, then pulled up Harry’s current number and dialed it.

He was answered almost immediately.

“Merlin, if this isn’t a fucking life-or-death situation, I will wring your neck,” Harry’s voice growled through the speakers.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” Merlin replied smoothly. Then his face and voice turned hard as he added, “Incidentally, where were you last night?”

“I was at the—ah.” A pregnant pause. Harry did not have a videophone, but Merlin could guess his expression well enough. “I’m on stakeout, so I didn’t bother alerting anyone. I… didn’t expect to be missed.”

Merlin wanted to be sharp and snarky, but he was a little bit caught off guard by the fact that, under the faint chagrin, there was a current of nervousness that he did not remember hearing in Harry’s voice. No, he _did_ remember this; it was back when Merlin had first proposed his friend from university, when there had been a rather pretty young lady candidate as well. It was so long ago, and they’d both matured so much—Harry the Hopeless Romantic had ceded to Harry the Heartless soon after his first solo mission.

Merlin began to smile, very slowly. Perhaps that nickname wasn’t… quite… accurate.

“You weren’t,” he replied shortly, then added slyly, “Well, you were, but he seemed reluctant to admit it.”

Harry made a muffled noise that Merlin didn’t bother trying to sort out. “Ah—I—damn it, here they come. T-tell him I’ll be back in a few days.” And he ended the call.

Merlin leaned back in his chair and began to chuckle, long and low.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was feeling better when Roxy left to let him sleep. He still felt hopeless and depressed, but it was easier to handle. Now it was less anger that he hadn’t figured it out earlier and more a comfortable annoyance that Galahad had managed to evoke these feelings. Eggsy preferred to be annoyed at the object of his affections than mope.

While he didn’t exactly wake up smiling, he _was_ more relaxed and able to control himself. He was even alright with other people knowing, as long as they didn’t tell anyone else. He decided he’d have to make them swear oaths of silence though. Especially if the twins were part of the knowing-group.

He still had a few hours before it was time to go back downstairs. He could go for a walk, hang about at the park, visit mum and Daisy. He could socialize with the day crowd. He could sit in the lounge and steal some tea. He could play computer games.

Or he could sit in the dark and quietly contemplate the way his world was crumbling around him.

Alright, that was a little dramatic. But he still felt that this required serious thought with no distractions, so, while he left his door cracked to let people know he was in and available for speech, he made a mug of tea and sat on his bed, leaning back on the wall.

First, he tried to pinpoint the moment he started fancying Galahad. This proved impossible, since the farther back he thought, the more he noticed little details that he’d completely overlooked at the time, and he found himself smiling like an idiot down at his mug of tea. So instead he tried to figure out exactly what he felt.

He was annoyed, of course, at himself and at Galahad. He was a little depressed that he had a snowball’s chance in Hell of getting Galahad to love him back—not that it was actually _love_ , just a small infatuation—but it was the comfortable, melodramatic, familiar depression of all kinds of unrequited affections. Eggsy’s mother had once accused him, smiling, of being an idealist and hopeless romantic. He wasn’t sure about that, but he _was_ sure that he missed being able to get giddy and mushy over someone without being taunted for unmanly behavior.

(Was Galahad a romantic too? Did he get warm mushy feelings sometimes?)

What was there besides annoyance and familiar misery? Well, he was still marveling that he felt this way over a man. He’d liked a few boys, but those had all been short, quiet affections that faded quickly. Unless you counted Richard. Richard had liked Eggsy back, and that had been bewildering and slightly exhilarating, until Richard was arrested for cocaine smuggling. So Eggsy was surprised at himself for choosing another man to moon over.

(Surely Galahad had never broken the law. Was he as good a kisser as Richard had been?)

Although he hadn’t really _chosen_ him. If it had been a conscious decision, he wouldn’t be so confused. Would he? Of course not. So this was a subconscious thing; subconsciously, Eggsy had decided that… that he was alright. He was safe. Eggsy had decided Galahad was safe.

And he was, wasn’t he? Galahad did not try to shove in when he wasn’t wanted—which was never—or interrupt or stand too close or say uncomfortable things. He was a gentleman, whatever that was. If Eggsy was going to have a sweetheart, who else would be more suitable?

Was that the whole reason, though? Did he only have feelings for Galahad because he was the closest acceptable person?

No. He knew as soon as he asked himself that that the answer was no.

Eggsy’s tea was cold. He got up and microwaved it and then went back to his previous position.

So what was he going to do, the next time he saw Galahad? Would he have the courage to say something? Would he be able to fake mild annoyance, or even tell him off? Or would he be so cowardly as to just scowl a little and then continue as if nothing had changed? He’d better go the coward’s route. Much less complicated. Also he didn’t think he had it in him to scold.

Eggsy drained his tea in three steady gulps, feeling like it was symbolic. Like Vikings and mead. This was his declaration that he was a coward and fucking proud.

Then he got up to get ready for work.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was burning bodies and evidence when he had a lightning bolt idea. Whipping out his phone, he dialed a florist, and, as the combined stench of cooking flesh and melting plastic wafted on the evening breeze, he said, “Yes, hello, I’d like to order a half-dozen roses.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy tried very hard not be disappointed that Galahad wasn’t there that night either. He didn’t manage. He _did_ manage to keep from being as nervy as he was last night. He sang well, chatted comfortably, drank more than usual, and made a martini out of habit. It made his chest hurt, so he drank it so he wouldn’t have to look at it or give it to anyone else.

It was a dance-night, which meant most of the songs he sang were upbeat and fast-paced. That was good. It kept him busy. He even managed to forget for a while.

At one point, while in the throes of artistic ecstasy (pulling off those high notes was _hard_ ), he vaguely noticed a person with a vase of flowers edging through the crowd near the door. Who was enough of a git to have _flowers_ delivered _here_? And at this time of night to boot? He dismissed it from his thoughts. He was working.

Near the end of the night, as his voice started to wane, Johanna darted through the crowds and up to the edge of the stage to tap Eggsy’s toe, and, when he looked down, still singing, held up a folded piece of paper. At the next break for breath, he stooped to take it, then straightened and tucked it in his pocket. He’d read it later, when Merlin kicked him off stage.

A few songs later, Eggsy’s part was done, and he was released from duty. As he worked his way around to the door to the lavatory—he’d been holding it for much, much too long—he took out the paper and squinted to read it through the uncertain lighting.

_Someone sent you flowers. They’re upstairs. There was a card. –J_

Eggsy shoved the note in his pocket again and hurried. He did not forget to wash his hands, though.

The lift was too slow. He went up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his heart in his throat. Those flowers were for him? Who sent them? Was it—did he—no, it was too much to hope for. But he hoped anyway.

In the common area, on one of the tables stood a plain glass vase with six pink roses in it. He felt a little putout—not red? Weren’t red roses the best? But then he shook himself mentally and went straight to the vase. What did it matter the color? The point was _someone sent him flowers_. Nobody had done that before. It was embarrassing how happy it made him.

The little card beside the vase was plain vellum, a cream-ish color, with only the logo of the florist printed on the back in gold. Frowning, he flipped it open to read the message.

_Eggsy, may I extend my deepest and sincerest apologies for my absence and the forgetfulness which prevented me from informing you beforehand. I shall be indisposed for several more days, but I promise I shall be back before next Monday. Try not to forget how to mix a proper martini before then. Your servant, G._

He realized he was grinning like an idiot. But then he realized he didn’t care. He picked up the vase, grinning even wider as the scent of roses tickled his nose, and took them up to his flat. No one else was back yet, so he didn’t have to do any explaining. Once inside the flat, he set the vase on his nightstand, and tucked the card under his pillow, and after taking off his stuffy formal wear to put on his pajamas he laid on his bed. After a few minutes, he startled himself with a giggle. And then he almost started laughing, but he quickly pulled his pillow over his face and bit his lip until the urge passed.

Galahad sent him roses. Galahad signed a card with ‘your servant’.

Eggsy pulled his pillow down to his chest and looked at his roses again. They stood out pink and lovely, tinting the air with scent. They almost seemed to glow. Or maybe he was just drunk and giddy.

He managed to tear his eyes from the vase long enough to boil some eggs and eat them, but then he decided to go to bed early. While the smell of roses was a comforting, cheerful thing, it was also very soothing, and he slept with a smile on his face.

When he woke he half-thought it was a dream. But no, there they were, slanting sunlight from the half-shuttered window glittering in the glass of the vase, the pink petals curling so delicately. He wondered if—

But then his stomach lurched, and he had to scramble to get to the bathroom in time to vomit. Those eggs hadn’t mixed well with all his drinking. Even wiping bile from his chin, he couldn’t stop smiling.

Today he’d promised to visit mum. And he didn’t care if Dean was there or not. Eggsy hurried to clean up and dress, and gobbled some toast before picking the three prettiest, most scented roses, wrapping their stems with a bit of cellophane to keep them together and stop any dripping, and rushing out. He thought he threw a “goodmorninggottagoseeyoulater” over his shoulder when he passed one of the others on the way down, but he couldn’t be sure.

He decided to be decadent, and waved down a taxi. The driver gave him an odd look, but shrugged and just drove. Eggsy couldn’t lean back and relax; he fussed over how to hold the roses so they wouldn’t wilt, then he watched the people outside, then he tried very hard to think of an explanation for having flowers to give. He couldn’t, not in this state.

When he handed over his fare and stepped out of the taxi, he was struck for a moment by how dingy everything seemed. He had to forcibly remind himself that no, he’d just been living with toffs too long. He rushed up the steps, and knocked briskly, and bounced on his toes a little as he waited for the door to open.

He’s already drawn breath to say a cheerful hello when he realized the person in the doorway was Poodle, not mum.

“What do _you_ want?” Poodle grunted.

“I’m here to see my mum,” Eggsy snapped. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here? Don’t you have people to rob?”

Poodle growled, but before it came to blows Eggsy’s mum appeared over Poodle’s shoulder and smiled at her son. “You didn’t bring those for me, did you, babe?” she asked, trying to be light and amused.

Eggsy could smile again for her, and slide past Poodle to hold out the roses proudly. “One of my friends at the club sent me some,” he said, trying to ignore the way his ears and the back of his neck started to feel warm. “I’m sorry they got wilted on the way over.”

“No, they’re lovely,” she assured him, accepting the flowers; and indeed, they were not drooping _too_ much. “I’ll have to find—“

“Oi, Muggsy! Finally decided we’re good enough for a visit, eh?”

Eggsy clenched his fists and counted to five before turning to look at Dean, sprawled on the sofa and sneering sarcastically at him. He didn’t speak, just stared at him, until the sneer faded, and his stepfather began to look uncertain as well as angry. Then he turned back to his mother and said lightly, “Had lunch yet? I got money left over. We could go to that Indian place you like.”

“Ah—“ She glanced at Dean, then nodded. “I’ll get a jacket.”

Eggsy decided against calling another cab. Instead they walked, and talked, and somehow by the time they got to the restaurant mum had extracted, not only the source of the roses, but also the card that came with it, Eggsy’s revelation, and Roxy’s promise that nobody would make fun of him or spread the secret. By the end of it they were at the door and mum looked torn between concern and sympathy. Eggsy felt slightly miserable, but when they took a seat he said, “It’s probably temporary anyway. It wouldn’t really work out, after all.”

Mum gazed at him thoughtfully for a few minutes. Then, to his surprise, she asked, “Why not?”

Eggsy stared at her. “Well—because—because he’s—he’s older than me, and—“ he stuttered, trying to think through the surprise. “We don’t really—we don’t really know each other, and—and it just wouldn’t. He’s—he’s all gentleman-like, and I’m—me.”

Mum nodded slowly, but not in agreement. She continued to look at her son with that thoughtful air, then sat up straight and changed the subject. He followed her lead gratefully, and was able to forget for a while. All through the meal, in fact, which was better than he remembered.

They took a cab home. Dean and Poodle were out, probably making trouble. Eggsy played with Daisy, and when it was time to go back he kissed her head, hugged mum tightly, and trotted down the stairs with a strange feeling of disconnect. This place was home to him, always would be, the smog, the stained, damp concrete, the continuous tension and pall of washed-out feelings… but he didn’t belong here anymore. He’d forgotten how to.

He walked back to the club in an unusually thoughtful mood.

This vanished the moment he stepped through the door and was greeted by Johanna, frowning, who told him, “You got more flowers. They’re on the table upstairs.”

“Thanks,” he said, and calmly walked to the stairs… and then bolted up them as fast as he could, though his legs were already quite tired. He was grinning ear to ear and had completely forgotten the discussion with his mother.

The glass vase was short and round, and the flowers were white. They looked a little like roses, but not quite. He frowned hard as he approached them, trying to decide if he recognized the scent; gardenias, that was it. He remembered them because of his cousin Caroline’s wedding had been swamped in the things. He hated them. But… they looked nice, and the scent wasn’t as overpowering when it was just one little bouquet instead of whole bushes placed all over.

There was no card. He didn’t care. He just picked them up and went to put them with his roses. If this kept up, he’d have a garden in his rooms before long.

He wouldn’t mind that, actually.

He was just unlocking his door when Erin stepped out of the lift, saw him, and actually _squealed_. “Oh my gosh, you got _flowers_?! Who’re they from?!” she gushed, skipping down the hall to hug him tightly.

“There wasn’t a card,” he replied, trying to be gruff as he opened his door. He didn’t dare look her in the face; she’d see it instantly.

He needn’t have bothered. Erin caught sight of the roses and laughed triumphantly. Eggsy glared at her, but it was hard when he was fighting a smile of his own.

“Oh my gosh, what if he sends you more?” she gasped, grinning. “You won’t have space to walk through here.”

“He won’t. Flowers are expensive.” After a moment of hesitation, he set the gardenias on top of the microwave, since there was nowhere else to put them. “I dunno why he sent these.”

“Gramma was a florist,” Erin volunteered, grin turning sly, “They’re not _that_ expensive. It’s the vases that cost a lot. And she taught me what flowers mean.”

Eggsy wanted to tell her to stuff her damn flower-meanings, but he was also a little curious. Erin took his silence as permission, and informed him proudly, “Roses are love, but pink roses are baby-love, like for crushes and sweethearts and people you admire.” Eggsy fought a blush. “And gardenias mean secret love, the kind you don’t wanna tell anyone else about.”

He lost the battle and had to turn his head away sharply so Erin wouldn’t see his face. But then his eyes landed on the three little roses, and he heard himself blurt, “M-maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he just thought they were nice.”

“C’mon, Egg Man, you can’t seriously think that _Galahad_ of all people wouldn’t know _exactly_ what every message he sends means,” Erin retorted scornfully. “He knows what gardenias stand for, and he knows that _you_ know, or at least that you’d figure it out.” She brightened suddenly. “Maybe he’ll send you more!”

“I just got this one,” Eggsy protested, turning to stare at her. “And anyway, how many different flowers can there be that—that mean—all that?”

“You’d be surprised. Get changed, Egg Man! It’s almost time for work!”

Eggsy shook his head as Erin bounded away again to pound on her brother’s door, just down the hall. But Eggsy looked at the gardenias again, and found himself smiling. Love? No. It wasn’t love. But it was close. And that was good enough.

When he put on his uniform, he thought for a moment, then took out one of the gardenias and hurried up one floor to knock on Bethany’s door. She was making corsages and boutonnieres for her elder brother’s anniversary party; maybe she could help Eggsy out.

Bethany was surprised to see him, but when he explained, she grinned and agreed to help.

And so, that night, Eggsy had to explain over and over that no, it wasn’t a rose, and he made it himself from a flower he got from a friend. A few people gave him sly, knowing looks, but he ignored them. Merlin gave him a long, measuring look, and Erin kept giggling, and Cedric looked like he wanted to ask about it very much, but the rest of the band didn’t notice or didn’t care. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but eventually decided to be grateful.

It was easier to smile with the scent of gardenias constant wherever he went.

Eggsy drank the martini in a silent toast to Galahad and hoped he was alright, wherever he was. He had the feeling it was not tailor business that was keeping him away.

His rooms were so full of flower smells he almost expected that they’d multiplied. But no, there was just the cloud of white on the microwave and the three dots of pink on his nightstand. He tried to be annoyed at himself for being so greedy as to want more. Wait… was he greedy for flowers, or for what Erin said they stood for?

He didn’t like thinking about that. It was hard not to, but he managed to turn his thoughts elsewhere. Unfortunately, his thoughts went straight to Galahad. Where was he? Was he safe? How was he ordering these… tokens, he supposed, and why? Eggsy wished, suddenly and painfully, that flowers were unnecessary. He wished Galahad would just come home. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted to see his half-smile that was the most he ever got out of him. He wanted to make them both a couple drinks and sit with him at his table. He wanted…

Eggsy fell asleep before he finished that thought. He dreamed it, though, and it was a good dream.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry, waiting for Arthur, found himself thinking about Eggsy again. Had he thrown out the flowers? They _were_ a bit much. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone straight to gardenias.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have started this at all.

It was wrong, taking advantage of Eggsy like this. He was just a boy. Just because he _might_ return Harry’s feelings didn’t mean he’d still feel that way in a week. That was the thing about youth and affection; both were so fleeting, so beautiful and short-lived. So even if Eggsy _was_ as fond of Harry as Harry was of him, he probably wouldn’t be once he found a lovely girl his own age.

This was depressing, and made him irritable, so he tried to think of something else. But he couldn’t. He missed hearing Eggsy’s voice, singing or speaking, and especially laughing. He missed his smile, the way he talked, the way he _listened_. Harry had never met a young person who _listened_ as well as Eggsy. Sober-faced, except for the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth, eyes trained solely on Harry, and hearing him out in full before answering or replying. And his singing…

He couldn’t take much more of this. He had to go see him. He didn’t care that it was too early, he’d wait for however long, and make sure he saw Eggsy before Eggsy saw him, because he didn’t know how he’d react—

Harry had just stood up, thrusting his chair back, and taken a step towards the door, when Arthur entered.

“Ah, Galahad! There you are. I trust everything went as planned?” Arthur asked, as he ambled to his own seat at the head of the table.

Harry sat again, slowly, and reminded himself that it was bad manners to electrocute his own boss. “Yes, I managed alright,” he said, forcing all irritation from his voice. “You might want to have a talk with whoever is in charge of that county’s constables; they seemed quite unprepared for such an incident.”

They discussed the job, because they had to; then they discussed the drug ring that continued to use the club as a meeting-place, despite Harry managing to catch and turn in at least three of their number. Harry managed not to talk about the staff, until Arthur asked, “Do you know if that young singer is connected?”

His fists clenched, and a white-hot lance of rage shot through him. Eggsy, a drug trafficker? Impossible. “I did not know any of the staff were suspects,” he answered calmly.

“I only ask because he is quite common, not one of Us,” Arthur pointed out, not even blinking. “And his father, Dean—“

“Stepfather,” Harry blurted.

Arthur stared at him. After an uncomfortably long moment, Arthur said slowly, “Yes, that is what I meant.” More normally, “His stepfather is a nasty piece of work. A horrible influence.”

“I can assure you, I have investigated all of the staff, and _all_ are innocent,” Harry replied. “Regardless of class or upbringing.”

“But perhaps you missed—“

“I didn’t ‘miss’ anything.” He expected frost to accompany the words, his voice was so cold and flat.

“Your tone borders on insubordination,” Arthur warned, though he seemed wary instead of angry.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Now Arthur’s eyebrows twitched together and he began to frown most aggressively. “Galahad—“

He couldn’t take hearing anyone call him by that name. “Do you have orders for me, sir?”

“Yes.” Arthur took an envelope out of his inside pocket and slid it across the table to Harry. “Another trip out of town, unfortunately. Here are your tickets and information.” Arthur narrowed his eyes as Harry picked up the envelope. “As for that boy—“

Harry stood. “If that’s all, Arthur, I shall be on my way now.”

And he left the room, trying very hard not to feel like he was running away.

~~~\0/~~~

Bethany helped Eggsy make a fresh boutonniere the next night. People still asked about it, but not as many. He was very happy that his flowers weren’t dying, at least not visibly.

During his first break, while he stood leaning against the wall with a whiskey in hand, watching the dancers with amusement, someone came up beside him. He didn’t even notice them at first, fascinated by the way one of the men on the dancefloor kept gazing longingly at Mari, who blushed furiously, though her breath didn’t waver. He only looked around when the person cleared their throat imperiously.

He jumped a little, and, thinking that it was maybe Johnny the snob who never failed to gravely advise Eggsy on what colors to wear, he turned with a friendly scowl—and swallowed his usual greeting.

Charlie Hesketh looked down his nose at Eggsy with an odd, distant expression. “I hear you have an admirer,” he said stiffly.

“I wouldn’t call ‘em that,” Eggsy replied warily.

“May I ask who keeps sending you these… floral arrangements?”

Had another one arrived, then? Eggsy hid his excitement. “I don’t know,” he answered frankly. “They never gave a name. It’s just flowers.”

Charlie’s jaw tightened. Eggsy tensed automatically, ready to fight—but fighting was against club rules. Surely not even the owner was above those rules.

“Flowers often lead to other presents,” Charlie informed him, tone impossible to read.

Eggsy shrugged and checked his whiskey-level. One mouthful left. “I wouldn’t know,” he said casually. “First time for me.”

“Surely not.” Did he actually sound surprised?

“Yep.” Eggsy finished his drink. “’Scuse me. Need a refill.”

Charlie stepped aside, Eggsy walked past him, and it was only a few minutes before he realized the other was following him. His shoulders wanted to hunch, he wanted to adopt the “small and harmless” half-scurry that he’d learned at the hands of Dean and his gang—but he wasn’t a helpless twig, he was getting stronger every day, and anyway, Charlie couldn’t do anything as long as they were in this building. So he walked ramrod straight and didn’t try to creep along the edges. He wove his way freely through the clumps of people, greeting, bantering, insulting good-naturedly; and when he reached the bar, Bailey was there with a bottle and a clean glass. She smiled at Eggsy, then noticed who was coming up behind him, and her smile faded. Eggsy accepted the offered drink and gave an encouraging nod—‘It’s alright, I know he’s there’—and turned, leaning back on the bar and sipping his drink in the cool, disregarding manner he’d seen Galahad use.

Charlie was frowning at him like he couldn’t quite figure out what Eggsy was. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything, so Eggsy looked past him, trying to spot if that one bloke was still making Mari nervous.

The answer was no; Mari was calm, her admirer was sitting at a table with his head in his hands, and Merlin was beckoning. Eggsy sighed and quickly downed his drink, then skipped around Charlie and hurried over.

“Everything alright?” Merlin asked in a murmur when Eggsy reached him. “Charlie seems fairly interested tonight.”

“He didn’t say much,” he assured the older man casually, and his hand started to rise—but one deep breath brought the scent of gardenias and he felt much better and clearer-headed.

Merlin caught the aborted gesture, and simply nodded. Eggsy climbed up on the stage, grinning at the cheers, and allowed himself to forget everything and everyone.


	4. The one with the bracelet

Eggsy placed the red carnations on his bookshelf, and sneezed. He _really_ didn’t like carnations. They reminded him of the one time he’d met Dean’s mother, who had flirted with Eggsy and made him feel horribly uncomfortable until mum had stepped in. But Galahad sent them, so he was reluctant to get rid of them.

Eggsy turned and stared at the huge pot in the corner that held an actual rose _bush_. It was a very small bush, and the roses were also very small, but he couldn’t care for it. He didn’t have the time or energy, and his rooms were too stuffy and dark. It had also been decidedly disturbing to arrive in _his_ place, _his_ sanctuary, _his_ locked home, and discover that somehow someone had gotten in and set such a huge, pointless _thing_ in the corner.

He didn’t like it. He liked it less than the carnations. At least those had had a card to remind him that they were from Galahad. The bush hadn’t had a card or identifying mark or anything. It was like someone was trying to compete, and were failing. Just because it was bigger didn’t mean it was any better.

He turned back to the carnations and took down the card next to them, just to read it again. This one was written in a different hand, one that he knew instinctively was Galahad’s. It was a very short note.

_It appears I will not be back by Monday. Duty calls. I will be there on Tuesday. Ever your servant, G._

It hurt, but at least it was something. And it was only one more day.

Eggsy put the card back with the flowers, then went out to convince someone to help him move the roses somewhere else.

He was in luck; Owen and Adio were hanging out in Owen’s rooms, and when Eggsy explained they both agreed to help. Between the three of them they got the plant to the lift, and from there into the common area. They put it on the wall next to the flatscreen, and were just leaving when Roxy opened her office door and called, “Eggsy, can I see you for a moment?”

He sighed, thanked Owen and Adio, and trudged over to Roxy, trying not to look sullen or nervous. She waved him inside the office and closed the door behind her. Eggsy remembered to wait until she was seated before also sitting. A ghost of a smile brushed over her face before she turned serious again.

“This is very sudden. Do you know who sent that rosebush?” she asked, gazing at him sternly.

Eggsy repressed the urge to squirm. “No,” he answered. “They were just there when I went up to my room. I don’t have space, and I kill every plant I touch, and I thought they’d look better down here.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Roxy began swearing with such vulgarity and passion that Eggsy jumped and gaped at her.

“That fucking wanker!” she ended her tirade, grabbing a notepad and scribbling furiously. “I fucking _told_ him that there was no bloody point! Eggsy, I have reason to believe that bush came from Charlie, and if you don’t take it back he’s going to be a complete ass about it.”

“Why the fuck would Charlie send me a fucking bush?” Eggsy retorted, unsettled and unbalanced.

“Because he’s pining and doesn’t know how not to turn everything into a competition,” Roxy explained shortly, looking up from her note with such a powerful anger on her face and in her voice that Eggsy almost didn’t catch her words. “He thinks that if he gives you “better” presents than you’re already getting, you’ll like him more.”

“But I never—“ Then Eggsy stopped, feeling suddenly a bit sick. “Oh. Wait, do snobs do this kind of thing all the time?”

Roxy’s mouth twitched. “I hear the dancers and actresses have it worse.”

They debated, and eventually agreed that they’d leave the roses, and if Charlie got insistent, Eggsy would take it back. He didn’t want to, but, as Roxy pointed out, there were plenty of ways for Charlie to make Eggsy’s life Hell without ever overstepping the boundaries between employer and employee. Just keep fending him off until he got tired of being rejected and moved on. Eggsy bowed to her experience, though even she didn’t seem to think it’d be enough.

But they’d decided, and Roxy released Eggsy. He went back to his room to think and check on his flowers.

The pink roses were beginning to wilt. He bit his lip and changed the water in their vase, letting them rest on some paper towels while he did so. A few petals fell off. He gathered them up and, not really knowing what he was doing or why, he put them on his windowsill, where a thin beam of sunlight warmed the painted wood. Maybe they’d dry out, and he could find a little bowl or something to put them in. Although what he’d do with a bowl of rose petals, he wasn’t quite sure. Keep them on his shelf? Mix them with the other flower petals and turn them into potpourri? Men did not have potpourri. Potpourri was for old ladies and hippies.

No. He’d just… keep them. And when Galahad came back he’d throw them out.

He wanted to go talk to someone, anyone; he wanted to not be alone in this place that wasn’t really his, not if strangers were allowed to waltz in whenever they wanted; he wanted to not be so angry and uncertain.

He crawled into bed and lay curled tightly under his blankets, trying to escape the world in sleep.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry managed to survive the dinner by drinking far too much wine. The three young ladies also seated at his table seemed unnerved by his impeccable manners and speech even when edging on drunk, though the two young men seemed fascinated. One young buck decided it was a contest. Harry didn’t care. Let the boy make a fool of himself.

This place of gleaming gold and solid silver, of snowy table cloths, of shiny wooden floors, of expensive wine and masterful cooking—this was not where he belonged. But he didn’t say as much. He simply drank and told himself, over and over, that it was worth whatever grains of information he could sift out of these people.

After dinner, there was dancing. Harry allowed the hostess to pair him with an eligible lady who was far, far too young for him, and apparently knew it, because she babbled and seemed uncomfortable. Harry barely heard what she was saying. He was thinking that he would’ve preferred to sit this out.

But no, no, the heir to the Hart family fortunes simply _must_ dance. There were times Harry was glad to be an only child; this was not one of them. If only he’d had a brother to fork all this over to…

Mother had not wanted another child, though. Mother hadn’t wanted a child at all. Father had been of the same mindset. Well, they had no one to blame but themselves and each other. Harry was glad he wasn’t the one living in their country seat, taking care of those bitter creatures; that was a job for Cousin Jessica, whose own parents were desperate to get her in the Hart will.

“What do you do in London?”

“Hmm?” He realized he’d zoned out and hadn’t heard a word his dance partner had said for at least a full minute. “I work at a tailor shop.”

She blinked, surprised. She was very pretty, but it was doll-pretty, carefully cultivated pretty, and her large blue eyes with golden lashes were just eyes to Harry. “A… tailor shop?” she repeated, unsure.

“Yes. It’s quite peaceful, really.”

Slowly, she began to smile. A pretty smile, but it wasn’t the full-force grin Eggsy had. “I think I see.”

The dance ended, and another young lady was ushered towards him. He suppressed a sigh and resigned himself to a full night of dancing. He needed to go to the restroom very badly.

He wondered absently if Eggsy knew how to dance.

~~~\0/~~~

“Why the fuck do _I_ have to learn to dance?” Eggsy complained as Roxy paired up the other band members.

“Because I said so,” Roxy retorted absently, running her finger down the list on her clipboard. “Also because this outing means we’re _all_ going to have to participate.” She looked up and leveled a glare at him. “And you’re going to have to watch your language. Lady Virginia spoils her nieces rotten, but that doesn’t mean she’ll tolerate swearing at _her_ party.”

Eggsy scowled harder, but stepped reluctantly in line facing Sadie. She, also, looked sullen and annoyed, but she at least was willing. Eggsy thought about being angry with her, but decided not to be. It wouldn’t be fair.

He’d thought training for gymnastics had been hard. This was nearly impossible. At least he could _see_ where his feet were going at the gym; dancing meant keeping his head up and being too close to another person, so he had to step without any idea if he was about to stomp on her foot or step outside the lines or otherwise mess up. And through all of this he had to _talk_?

“You’d better hope all your partners are chatterboxes,” Sadie told him dryly after his fourth attempt at replying correctly devolved into swearing. “Maybe then it won’t be as obvious.”

“Nobody will want to dance with me anyway,” he shot back, though it lost some venom because he was trying to see where to place his feet. He’d lost the rhythm again. Where were they? “I’m just—fuck!—just a pleb.”

“No, you’ll get asked.” Sadie nudged his shin with her toe and he obediently stepped back with that foot. Her tone was world-weary and sagely, and he wondered how many formal dances she’d been to. “If you’re even vaguely attractive, _some_ one will try to vamp you. It’s the law of the land.”

Eggsy scowled down at their feet. “Fuck vamping, I just hope they wear steel-toe boots,” he muttered. Sadie snorted, the closest she ever got to laughing outright.

Roxy drilled them on six different dances, though Eggsy couldn’t really tell them apart. All the waltzes were stepping in a square, sometimes with flourishes, sometimes not; all the country dances were circular, and you had to try not to run into everyone else. He decided, when Roxy let them have a break, that he loathed dancing and everything that came with it.

“These are just two kinds,” Roxy assured him as he sprawled in a chair and scowled. “There are more.”

Eggsy’s horrified expression made everyone burst out laughing. “Are you taking the piss?! And we gotta learn ‘em all?!” he fairly squeaked.

Roxy rolled her eyes, but she was grinning too. “No, you don’t. But you have to learn _some_ , if only to keep Lady Virginia from throwing you out immediately.”

“Why are we even doing this?” Aaron lamented; he was just as bad as Eggsy, but he wasn’t even trying. At least the elder boy was _attempting_ to fix the patterns in his head. “Won’t they have a band already?”

“An orchestra, actually, and that is precisely why you must learn at least this much,” Roxy shot back. “Charlie offered your services, and per the contracts that you all signed upon being hired, you have to go where he—meaning I—tell you to. You’re guests. Yes, you’ll be playing, but that’ll be only a few songs. You’re expected to socialize—“ She stopped to patiently wait out their groans and protests, and when that died down she continued, “Socialize with as many people as possible, so Charlie thinks you’re properly grateful. That way he’ll give all of you nice big bonus checks afterwards.”

That made them all quiet down. Except for Eggsy, they were all manor-born, or their families were at least well off, meaning their paychecks were smaller than they were used to having at their disposal. Eggsy was always amazed when any of them complained about money. Stop buying clothes that cost hundreds of pounds and eating at expensive restaurants, and maybe you’ll have enough saved to buy that new sports car.

He never bothered trying to give them financial advice. He’d already baffled and horrified them when he tried to explain that there was no point in buying a whole new set of clothes every week when the shirts he’d had for about three years were still in good condition.

Rich people. Eggsy shook his head and repressed a sigh. No money sense, any of them. It came with having too much for their own good.

“Alright everyone, one more time, then we’ll break for supper. On your feet!”

He groaned and stood. Just a bit more, and then he could rest for real.

It was Monday. Tomorrow Galahad was coming home. But Eggsy wouldn’t be here; he’d be at some gentry house in the middle of nowhere, dancing with and singing for a bunch of toffs and snobs. It made him angry, except he wasn’t allowed to show that he was angry. At least they’d be allowed naps and food before having to deal with those people.

When it was time to be sent to bed, Eggsy leaned against the back wall of the lift, and watched the others talk. All of them were tired, but he was the only one who _wasn’t_ looking forward to the house party. The dancing, all of them were dreading; the party itself? They were all excited, talking about who would be there, what the topics of conversation would be, what to wear, what to eat… and Eggsy wanted to stay firmly in London. He’d been to the country on holiday. He hated it. It was all too open, too defenseless, too clear. He wanted walls at his back. He wanted towering buildings to hold up that immense sky that he was certain was going to fall and crush them all.

But he wasn’t allowed to stay. So he glared sullenly at his friends, who ignored him as they talked about how great an adventure this was going to be. At times like this, they didn’t feel like friends. They were just people that he had to suffer through.

When he reached his own rooms, he opened the door and was greeted with a puff of scent that made him smile regardless of everything.

Whatever was holding Galahad up, it wasn’t holding up the flower brigade. He had tulips now, too, and more pink and red roses to replace the three whose petals he’d been drying and saving in a tumbler he’d, ah, “liberated” from the bar. There were more gardenias, in a wide, low pot, that he was trying to keep alive. So far it was working.

There was also a truly impressive arrangement of tropical flowers he couldn’t name from Charlie, and an ugly vase full of lilies. Eggsy had put those in corners and was hoping they’d die quickly.

Just as Eggsy was getting ready for a nap, someone knocked on his door. He groaned wearily, but trudged reluctantly over to look out the peephole. Roxy stood there, with a concerned expression. Curious as well as annoyed, he opened the door.

“I just found this on my desk,” she said as soon as Eggsy opened his mouth to ask what she wanted, and thrust out a little black, rectangular box. Eggsy looked at it, and felt a chill.

“From Charlie?” he asked casually.

“No,” she replied. “Charlie wouldn’t dare. I think.”

The chill abruptly became a warm shiver. “Let’s open it, then.”

Roxy handed it over gladly, like it was burning her; Eggsy turned the box over in his hands, trying to guess what was inside. Not a necklace, Galahad knew better than to send a necklace; but it wasn’t a ring, which would also be inappropriate. A bracelet? He popped it open, too curious and tired to try and puzzle any longer.

It _was_ a bracelet, about three centimeters wide and twenty long, of silver mesh, with five blue stones he was pretty sure were sapphires spaced evenly along its length.

“…At least it’s not gold,” he made himself say. He was holding a _fortune_ , by his standards; and this was something Galahad threw at people he liked?

“Don’t wear it.” Roxy’s face was hard, her eyes steely. “I’m going to have to have a talk with him when we next meet.”

“Why?” Eggsy asked, startled. “I mean, why not? It’s just a bracelet.”

“And how long has it been since you last saw each other?” Roxy asked sharply. “Flowers are all very well, everyone has sent flowers to sweethearts or family members, but this? This is going a bit far.”

Eggsy’s hands clenched around the little box. “How the fuck is it ‘going too far’? You rich folk throw jewelry at each other all the fucking time, why is this any different?”

Roxy seemed startled by this retort. “That’s not the same thing,” she insisted. “That’s—that’s friendship, or family. This is like he’s trying to buy you.”

“Says who?”

“Says everything and everyone! Flirting is one thing, but this—this is serious! This is something one gives to an established partner. You barely know each other!”

That reminder hurt and made him uneasy, as it always did, as she meant it to. But he was exhausted and angry and stubborn, so all he said was, “Yeah, and that’s gonna be fixed when he comes home! So thanks for the delivery, and good-fucking- _bye_.”

And he slammed the door in her face.

Almost immediately, he felt horrible, and wanted to apologize—but he’d meant it. So what if they didn’t know each other as well as they should? That could be fixed. And Galahad was probably so rich he didn’t even notice how much this cost.

Roxy’s footsteps traveled down the hall, away from his door. He bit his lip, but his pride stopped him from going out and apologizing as he should. Instead he went and sat on the edge of his bed, took out the bracelet, and latched it on his right wrist. It was cool and heavy and just a little large, but it felt nice. He stared at it, turning his wrist back and forth to watch the gleams and sparkles change with every new angle.

Then he noticed the thinly-folded piece of paper in the box that had been obscured by the bracelet.

He pulled it out and unfolded it carefully, hands trembling just a little as he smoothed it out on his thigh. The writing was small and hurried.

_Eggsy, I know this is a bit fast, but I thought you should have this bracelet for safety’s sake. There is an emergency GPS tracker in it, and a microphone. They’re both activated when you press the third sapphire. Do not turn them on while in London. Merlin has alerted me to the fact that you will be close to a dangerous situation in a day or so. Please wear this as long as you are there, for the safety of others as well as yourself. Ever yours, G._

Eggsy looked at the bracelet warming on his wrist. A tracker? A microphone? What, was Galahad concerned he might be kidnapped? He felt very uneasy, staring at this… gift.

But… he didn’t _have_ to turn it on. He could just wear it as a regular bracelet. And Galahad said right there that it could be helpful for others as well as himself. So it was fine. Right?

Eggsy folded the note again and put both it and the bracelet back inside the box, very carefully. Then he set the box on his nightstand, next to the vase of roses. He looked around, at all these other tokens of affection, sweetly scenting the room, glowing faintly in the light slipping through the blinds. And he smiled. Who cared about a damn piece of metal when there were things like flowers?

He settled in bed and took a nap.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry allowed Lady Virginia to convince him to stay another day. It wasn’t just the chance to see Eggsy again; it was also the fact that there was a double-murder planned, and he was damned if he was going to let it come to fruition.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy ignored Roxy’s glare and instead answered Cedric’s inquiry loud enough for the others to hear too. “It’s just plate, and I’m pretty sure they’re not real rocks. It’s cheap shit.”

“That looks pretty genuine to me,” Adio offered, looking rather concerned. “If it is—“

Eggsy shrugged. “Their loss, then,” he replied bluntly.

Erin and Mari gave him concerned looks, and Cedric frowned uneasily, but the others all shrugged and turned away. Good. He didn’t want them asking more questions.

They were all standing on the platform to get on the train, luggage stacked in an untidy pile next to their huddle. Three porters stood nearby, talking amongst themselves. Eggsy watched the flow of people all around with interest. He was rarely in a place where so many different _kinds_ of people mixed and socialized. It was hot, though. So incredibly hot. He’d peeled off his jacket within minutes, which was how the others had noticed his new accessory. He had nowhere else to put his jacket, so he tied it around his waist, feeling ridiculous. But he refused to sweat to death.

He hadn’t even noticed summer’s approach. Now it was beating down on the city, and he remembered why they’d gone to the country on holiday; supposedly it was cooler out in the emptiness, and while he didn’t doubt that grass and trees and animals were less likely to absorb and reflect heat, there was also the fact that it was mostly dirt out there, and dirt meant dust, and dust meant having to close windows and cover faces. Eggsy hated dust, almost as much as he hated the feeling that without supports the blue dome overhead was going to collapse and smother them all. He was a city boy, and that meant he belonged in a city.

Eggsy glared at everyone who looked happy to be getting on a train out of London, including his group.

Although, they’d be riding First Class, which was a strange new world that he was curious to explore. That part would be alright. He loved infiltrating posh places and offending snobs with his mere presence.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and he jumped, looking around with surprise. It was a walrus-looking man, perhaps a few centimeters taller than Eggsy and certainly heavier, with a full bristly mustache and the most good-naturedly earnest face he’d ever seen. “Excuse me, sir,” the walrus began, “But I couldn’t help noticing—I am a jeweler by trade, you see, and I was wondering about that bracelet.”

“This?” Eggsy took his hand out of his pocket and raised his arm, surprised. “What about it?”

The walrus’s face lit up in triumph. “I knew it!” he trumpeted, making Eggsy jump again and attracting the attention of the whole band, “I knew I recognized that design!”

“Design?” Eggsy looked at it again. It was just a silver bracelet. Wasn’t it?

“Yes, you see, the pattern of the linkage is very distinctive, and the setting of the stones—this is a Hart bracelet!” The walrus whipped out a thing like a tiny camera lens and trained it on Eggsy’s wrist. He turned it automatically, to hide the third sapphire. “I knew the man who made this, you see, a friend of mine, capital fellow! He made five of them, for his four cousins and himself—are you, by chance, a Hart?” The walrus raised his head, one eye disturbingly magnified by the little lens.

“Um—no, I—a friend gave me this,” Eggsy replied, utterly bewildered as to how to answer. “I don’t know any Harts, I don’t think.”

“Pity, pity,” the walrus hummed, gazing thoughtfully at the bracelet before tucking his lens away. “The Hart line is dwindling much too quickly. Talented family, they were. Especially Rupert. Best damned craftsman I knew, begging your pardon, ladies.” The walrus reached into his pocket and drew out a card. Eggsy took it, because what else was he supposed to do? “When you see that friend again, do tell them congratulations for me. And please, feel free to stop in my shop any time. Gentlemen, ladies.” The walrus tipped his hat, and trundled off.

Eggsy shut his gaping mouth and looked down at the card. He didn’t recognize the names on it, but he knew it was probably an expensive place. And when he looked up, everyone was staring at him.

“What?” he snapped, a little nervously.

“Nothing,” Owen said. “Just—“

The train arrived, squealing and chuffing. The porters started piling the luggage on the carts. They got ready to pile on, and in the momentary distraction, Eggsy stuffed the card in his pocket and pressed the third sapphire. He felt it click, a satisfying, heavy sort of click; there’d be no danger of turning it off again unless something smashed his wrist hard enough to break it. He didn’t intend to break his wrist any time soon.

When he mounted the steps and entered the cabin, his first emotion was disappointment. This wasn’t that much fancier than a nice airplane. Why was it so expensive?

They were the only people in this car, though, and the seats seemed set a little further apart. The band immediately split and scattered; Aaron and Erin rushed to the very front, and pressed their faces to the windows, babbling excitedly over each other. Owen and Adio settled in seats at the rear, deep in discussion of some football game. Bethany and Cedric sat near the front and pulled out their (very worn and frayed) yarn loop to play cat’s cradle. Wallas slumped in a seat near the middle. Mari and Sadie sat on the other side from him. Roxy strode up and down the car, scribbling busily on her clipboard. Eggsy gazed about, then chose the seat across the aisle from Owen and Adio. Looking around and seeing that no one was watching or listening, he drew up his knees, bracing his heels on the edge of his seat, and crossed his arms over his knees, putting his bracelet close enough, he hoped, for the microphone to pick up his whispers.

“I know technically this is still in London,” he mumbled, feeling very self-conscious, “But some bloke claiming to be a jeweler was really interested in this bracelet and said it was made by somebody named Rupert Hart. You got a lot of explaining to do, Galahad.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he laid his cheek on his arms and watched the platform through the window. He didn’t want to guess how long it was before the train began to get ready to move. Roxy and the twins quickly found seats, and an old man in a fancy uniform came around to look at their tickets. He gave Eggsy a stern look, even as he accepted his ticket, but said nothing.

Then Eggsy watched as, slowly at first, then steadily faster, his beautiful city began to pass, and lessen, and fade, until it gave out altogether, and there was nothing.

Well, that wasn’t quite true; there were the suburbs, and past them were plenty of houses on big plots of land, and then there were things like hills and grass and trees and shrubbery and fields. Eggsy got tired of it all very quickly, and wished once more for his city.

But he couldn’t go back, not now. So he hummed to himself, new songs and old, and some he’d even written himself. When he got tired of humming, he stood up and went to talk with the twins. They regaled him with tales of their other travels, which had been extensive, but he knew it was just to be polite. He excused himself, and smiled a little as they went back to chattering at each other. Wallas was asleep. Good. He never seemed to get enough rest at home. Sadie and Mari were reading their respective books, Cedric and Bethany were dead to the world, and Owen and Adio were comparing favorite football players. Roxy was writing quickly and scowling furiously. Eggsy walked slowly up and down the car, getting used to the humming and rocking motions. Then he returned to his seat, and took a nap.

Roxy woke him enough for snacks, but while everyone consolidated at the front, he stayed at the back and murmured descriptions of what everything looked like to his bracelet, for something to do, and to try and force himself to be interested in their surroundings.

“There’s a cloud that looks like a dragon from here. Fuck, it’s huge. More sheep. Sheep look so stupid. I guess they’re interesting if you’re little and you’ve only ever seen dogs and cats. Some cows over there. Maybe if we went slower I’d know what trees these are, but trains can’t really slow down, can they? I wonder if Merlin is taking care of the flowers. Thank you for those, by the way. I really like the gardenias. That cloud looks like a ship. Is it pointing North or East? I can’t fucking tell. There’s a road by the tracks here—and there goes the first car. Fuck it’s hot.” And so on and so forth. He wasn’t paying attention, murmuring his observations in an almost dreamlike trance. It certainly _felt_ like a dream.

He drifted off again, still talking. Then he drifted back, and picked right up again.

The train stopped sometimes, and the others would get off to stretch their legs and maybe grab a bite and a drink. Eggsy stayed firmly in his seat and described the people he saw through the window.

“Fuckin’ hell! That’s a huge hat! How is she keeping her head up? It’s purple and it’s got like five ostrich feathers; it’s as wide as your umbrella! There’s a kid kicking a rock around. Where are his parents? Oh, there they are. His dad’s trying to chat Roxy up. Why ain’t the mum complainin’? She looks like she’d gonna faint… that’s what you get for wearing all black. The kid’s rock just hit some man’s leg—oi, that ain’t right! Shoutin’ at a kid that ain’t yours! Fuckin’ wanker! Oh, brilliant, dad’s gonna get in a fight. It’d serve him right, dickhead. Here comes some blokes in uniforms. Mum’s got the kid. Lady with the giant purple hat is drinking from a flask. That man looks like some sort of gypsy—sorry, Roma. Of course Cedric offered him his sandwich. Fight’s broke up. Everyone’s boarding.”

And at the next stop, “There’s some old folk standing around. How can they stand this heat? There’s the purple hat! I thought she got off. Some farmers, I guess. They look tired. The one’s covered in mud. What are they talking about? Wish I could hear. No, I ain’t going out there until I have to. But the muddy one looks scared. Owen’s going to talk to them. Purple Hat is drinking again. Little kid is out again with his mum, kicking his rock. There ain’t many people here.” He shivered and rubbed his arms. London was never this empty-looking. There was always _some_ thing going on that meant a crowd.

When the others boarded, they looked grim and worried. Eggsy didn’t get a chance to ask; Erin hopped into the seat in front of him and turned so she was kneeling on the seat and able to look over the back. “They found a body!” she exclaimed, her excitement not nearly as happy as usual. “Well, the remains of one. It’d been burned until the bones were all cracked and falling apart. The constable sent them off to Scotland Yard.”

 _Merlin has alerted me to the fact that you will be close to a dangerous situation in a day or so._ Eggsy’s hands clenched, but he showed no fear. “Does anyone know who it is?”

Erin shook her head. “No, the farmer who found it says that no one’s missing from _his_ village. That’s why it’s going to be processed to see if there’s any intact DNA.”

Eggsy nodded. He felt decidedly sick. A murderer was loose in this area. No wonder Galahad was concerned. He felt very grateful for the bracelet sitting cool and solid around his wrist; if anyone got close enough to murder _him_ , at least there’d be a shred of evidence. If they didn’t burn it along with him.

Everyone settled in their seats. Eggsy couldn’t. He shifted, he squirmed, he sidled. He got up and walked the length of the car four times before sitting again. He chewed his thumbnail, a nervous habit from childhood. It wasn’t just knowing there was a killer around, but he wasn’t quite sure _what_ it was.

The others were giving him uneasy looks. He stopped biting his nails and tried to watch the passing scenery, but now it was even more frightening. Oh, sure, back in the city there were plenty more places a murderer could lay up, but at least there were people and police around. Out here? In the unregulated, unpopulated wild lands? If one grew up around here, or at least didn’t mind dirt, one could be literally anywhere not clean and cleared and in use by humans.

He would never be this paranoid on his home ground.

_Merlin has alerted me to the fact that you will be close to a dangerous situation in a day or so._

Eggsy curled up in his seat and wished miserably he was back in his rooms with his flowers and music books.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was reading in the garden. Well, he wasn’t actually reading; he was holding a book, and occasionally he turned pages, but he was actually listening very carefully.

“Fuckin’ hell! That’s a huge hat! How is she keeping her head up? It’s purple and it’s got like five ostrich feathers; it’s as wide as your umbrella! There’s a kid kicking a rock around. Where are his parents? Oh, there they are. His dad’s trying to chat Roxy up. Why ain’t the mum complainin’? She looks like she’d gonna faint… that’s what you get for wearing all black.”

Harry kept the smile from his face with heroic effort. He’d been surprised to hear Eggsy’s whisper so soon, but he didn’t mind. It was a very clear whisper, despite the background noise. And, thanks to Eggsy’s running commentary, he knew exactly where they were.

Only a few more miles and they’d be here.

Harry was just getting ready to stop pretending to read and go back inside when another voice made him freeze in place.

“They found a body! Well, the remains of one.”

It wasn’t a voice he immediately recognized, but as they continued, he knew exactly what they were talking about. He stood, marked his page, and wandered through the garden. Well, garden _s_ , plural. They were extensive, and he was sure no one else would be around, not with the sun beating down through dragon- and ship-shaped clouds and cold drinks inside. He listened carefully, and when no more whispers came through his speakers, he headed to the part of the gardens where he remembered there being a few truly outstanding gardenia bushes.

He had to bribe the gardener to let him snip a few, and kept them in his own guest suite, awaiting Eggsy’s arrival. He wrote a note to go with it, and sealed it in an envelope.

Then he did the thing he hated most: he waited.


	5. The one that's really awkward

“…And this is Gary Unwin, our singer.”

Lady Elizabeth, the niece for whom this whole extravaganza was being thrown, smiled charmingly and held out her hand. Eggsy did as Roxy had instructed him and kissed it, noticing that the skin was cold and her perfume smelled like dead roses. He did not want to deal with her.

“Charmed,” Elizabeth said, and that was all. Eggsy managed a respectful nod, to hide the fact that he couldn’t make himself smile, and stepped back again.

The arrival here had been nerve-rackingly anticlimactic. Lady Virginia’s sprawling property was actually part manor, part what Eggsy could only describe as ‘resort’; they’d been driven in fancy cars up a graveled road so smooth and old that the rocks had become almost as solid and even as asphalt, glimpsing gardens, tennis courts, a wide green place where some figures played croquet, a pool with a waterfall, and a veranda with a few more figures reclining in whicker chairs. The manor/resort itself was half pink-brown granite, half fresh white paint. The granite part was the older family home, Erin had whispered to Eggsy. The rest had been built by some scheming old Duke in the 1920’s, who wanted to eventually turn the whole estate into a summer retreat for other well-to-do folk, despite the protests of his family. He’d died before it could be completed (poison, whispered the eldest villagers; heart failure, the younger ones laughed) and it had stayed in its limbo state, turning into a party-house for his descendants.

Thus, Lady Virginia (she refused to let anyone call her ‘Duchess’) had lent the use of it to her nieces for two weeks, though she herself oversaw everything. The party had already been going for a week, but the guests were bored of the orchestra Lady Virginia had hired, and wanted something more, well, modern. Thus Charlie’s offer to send for ‘his’ band.

Erin had told Eggsy all of this, and then they had arrived, and alighted from the cars to troop up the steps to the front door. People in uniforms had swarmed passed Roxy and the band, collecting their luggage and carting it away as the housekeeper led them to the rooms they would be inhabiting. The girls shared a suite on one side of the hall, and the boys shared the suite on the other side. Roxy, as leader and manager, had a splendid set of rooms all to herself.

And Eggsy had his own as well.

He hadn’t liked that. He’d been hoping to have a roommate, here in this strange place; Aaron, or Cedric, or even Wallas. Owen and Adio shared a room as a matter of course, and no one even thought about separating them. But—Eggsy wasn’t special. He was just the singer, a commoner, rough and ill-suited to these surroundings.

But he wasn’t allowed to complain. So he’d cleaned up and put on nice clothes (his sleeve hid his bracelet) and gone out to join his bandmates for the introductions. Those had been relatively painless, simply trooping to a large room full of small round tables set with silver (his fingers twitched acquisitively) to say hello to the nieces and the orchestra. Eggsy thought the orchestra looked relieved to be ousted.

“I hope you’re up to playing six hours a day, _every_ day,” the orchestra leader told the band shortly, when the nieces had sailed away with Roxy sandwiched between them. “Dinner is alright, they’re only expecting some nice background music, but when it comes to the dancing—well, you know how it is.”

“We’ll be fine,” Bethany assured her. “We play longer than that every night.”

Eggsy rubbed his throat surreptitiously. He was not as sure as Bethany. Not at all sure.

They were given a tour by one of the guests, a giggling woman who tried to flirt with Adio constantly. He responded politely and stood a little closer to Owen, whose usually good-natured face held a faint cast of annoyance. Eggsy would’ve found it funny, if he weren’t distracted by how strange everything was.

Everything he’d read about in novels and seen on telly were here; rooms dedicated wholly to the silliest things, corridors and stairs that were only a little hard to get straight, at least three rooms with no apparent function except looking nice, liquor cabinets absolutely everywhere (he mouthed a silent thank you to the gods and goddesses of alcohol for that), five different gardens, the genteel sports they had glimpsed from the road, and a stable and places to ride.

Eggsy stopped in his tracks the moment he smelled horse manure, and refused to move any closer. He was too embarrassed to explain, so he just muttered that he couldn’t ride so it didn’t matter. Erin stood with him, a sympathetic companion, as the others all entered the stable and exclaimed at the beauty of the thoroughbreds. Eggsy kept his eyes on the ground and his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Of all things, of all animals, why did it have to be bloody _horses_?

When the tour was completed, dusk had fallen, and their guide shooed them back inside. Everyone changed clothes again except Eggsy, and then they were led to the room where they’d met the orchestra, which turned out to be a dining room. The band hesitated for a few moments in the doorway, and then scattered, leaving Eggsy awkwardly to one side.

He gazed around, suddenly nervous, which was annoying. There were about twenty-four tables, and they all had people at them. His friends—some friends, to abandon him like this—were sitting with _their_ friends, people they knew already, and chatting animatedly. He felt very alone.

Then he saw something that made his heart flip and the room feel very small and warm.

Galahad sat at a table across the room, with two men and two women, all under thirty. He looked affable enough, but also bored, and he drank his wine with no evidence of enjoying it. And, to Eggsy, he seemed much sharper and more real than anyone around him.

Eggsy wondered vaguely at the strength of his reaction, but then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know anyone; and Galahad wasn’t looking, anyway. So Eggsy tore his eyes away and went back to pretending to be uncomfortable and a little shy.

“Oh! That’s right, you don’t know anyone, do you?” The young woman who’d been their guide popped up at his elbow, smiling sympathetically. Eggsy shook his head, not quite trusting his voice at the moment. “Well, come over this way,” she coaxed, tucking her hand in his elbow and towing him gently through the tables. “I know someone who won’t mind making your acquaintance. Sir Hart!” She raised her hand, just as Eggsy realized in what direction she was pulling him in, and then Galahad looked over, and Eggsy suddenly understood the wish to vanish or be swallowed by the earth he stood on.

It felt like everyone was looking, absolutely _everyone_. He fought to keep a straight face, and not look at Galahad directly, and walk without tripping up. Flowers and cards flashed in his mind’s eye, and memories of emotions it was hard to control, and he wanted nothing more than to yank away and _run_ —but they had reached Galahad’s table, and he and all four of his companions were staring at Eggsy and his keeper.

“Sir Hart, I’m sorry to disturb you, but Roxanne’s band just arrived—well, you should know, you always do—this is the singer, Gary, and since no one else has room—“

“Of course,” Galahad said calmly, and inclined his head at the empty chair on his right. Eggsy’s keeper sat him down there, patted his shoulder, and flounced away.

Eggsy didn’t need to feign shyness now. He couldn’t look at Galahad if his life depended on it. He stared down at his hands clenched in his lap, and waited for someone else to make the first move.

“Hey, Emily,” one of the other young men said suddenly, “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to Cedric?”

“I most certainly did,” the woman beside Eggsy agreed smoothly, standing quite as if she had meant to do so all along. The man who’d addressed her also rose. “Shall we?”

“Um, I need to powder my nose,” announced the other woman, leaping to her feet and fleeing. The other man didn’t even make an excuse, just stood and left.

Galahad drank the last of his wine. Eggsy felt his ears and the back of his neck start to warm up. He steadfastly stared at his knees.

“So,” Galahad said finally, staring thoughtfully off into space, carefully not looking at Eggsy.

He couldn’t stop it, he was close to panicking, his head jerked up and he blurted, “Why’d she call you Sir ‘Hart’?”

Galahad blinked and looked at him, surprised. Then he gave that tiny, tiny smile that nobody else seemed able to see. “That’s my name,” he answered frankly. “Harry Hart. I was knighted a few years ago.”

Harry Hart? _Harry_? It wasn’t nearly as… elegant, or gentlemanly, as his name should’ve been. “Then why the f—why did you say your name was Galahad?”

“Because I had to.”

Eggsy thought about being angry, but what was the point? He was sitting next to the one person he’d thought about the most for a long time now, as alone as they would ever get to be as long as they were here, and they were going to have dinner. It was practically a _date_ , if you ignored how it wasn’t. He should be happy, shouldn’t he?

“I’m still gonna call you Galahad,” Eggsy informed him firmly.

Galahad seemed to relax, somehow, in some way Eggsy couldn’t quite define. “I have to thank you for that, actually,” he murmured back. “I am absolutely sick of being reminded that I’m only here because of my family.”

Eggsy decided not to ask for an explanation. Instead he moved his hands to the edge of the table; his sleeves slid, and the bracelet glinted. Galahad saw it, and relaxed further. Eggsy found himself grinning. “I really like silver,” he found himself admitting.

“I’d hoped you would,” Galahad replied.

“And the—the other stuff.”

“I wasn’t sure if that was a bit… fast.”

“Roxy thinks so.”

Galahad raised one eyebrow just a little. Eggsy scowl-smiled his answer. Galahad’s mouth curved upwards again.

Waiters appeared magically after a time, and the first course was served. Galahad and Eggsy sat in solitary splendor; which was just as well, since he had no idea how to eat any of the food set in front of him. For instance, apparently, for the soup, you weren’t supposed to take a spoonful and put it in your mouth; you scooped up a small amount and sipped it carefully, and you kept your elbow off the table while you did so. It was just as well that Eggsy almost spat out his first taste—he hated beets with a passion—because he didn’t get very much.

Roxy had tried to drill him in table manners, but that had devolved into an argument about how much he’d be allowed to swear, so they’d never gotten around to it. Instead, Eggsy copied Galahad as best he could, and covertly watched the others. Conversations rarely stopped, and there was plenty of laughter, so nobody heard or cared that their own chatting was spare and a little stilted. But they didn’t need to talk; a tilt of the head, the quirk of an eyebrow—‘did you hear that? What do you think?’—answered with a twist of the mouth up or down, a tiny nod or shake—‘they got a point’ or ‘what a load of bullshit’—followed by a quick glance—‘your opinion?’. Why waste breath talking when looks said exactly what you meant, and were far more eloquent?

The meal didn’t take as long as he’d feared. Unfortunately, that meant that Roxy drifted over right in the middle of a silent conversation about the ridiculousness of Aaron’s boasting, and murmured, “Elizabeth wants us to play immediately after dessert. Do you remember the list?”

Eggsy, having had to go over the playlist with Merlin every possible waking moment since it had been finalized (without Merlin, Eggsy was to be DJ, the thought of which always made the elder cringe), nodded in reply. He didn’t want to get up and sing—couldn’t they play a few songs without him to warm everyone up?—but he did, pushing in his chair and using the action as an excuse to let his hand bump Galahad’s. Galahad nodded very slightly and did that near-invisible smile. He’d stay, no matter how bad it got. That made Eggsy feel much better.

The band was slowly consolidating near the slight stage, where their instruments had been set. Eggsy was the last to join them. While they all quietly set up, Roxy stood in front of the stage, cleared her throat to call attention (as if everyone didn’t already have one eye on them), and said, ever so innocently, “Anyone have any requests?”

This was not part of the plan. The band exchanged a single panicky look amongst themselves, but kept absolutely straight faces. Eggsy adjusted the mic stand, shoulders tense as he waited for the axe to fall.

Elizabeth stood and called, “How Deep Is Your Love! The _good_ one!”

Eggsy began to smile, very slowly. He heard a low chuckle behind him. “How Deep it is,” he said into the mic, and lifted his hand, counting off on his fingers. Five… four… three… two…

“I know your eyes in the morning sun, I feel you touch me in the pouring rain; and the moment that you wander far from me, I wanna feel you in my arms again…”

He could tell by the sea of surprised faces that this was not the song they were expecting. Well, too bad. It was a favorite of Merlin’s, and he liked to make them play it while he made adjustments, so they had it memorized to even _his_ satisfaction. And when Eggsy glanced over, he saw Galahad trying very hard not to laugh. That made him bold and reckless, and his enthusiasm rubbed off on the others, so that even though most of the audience didn’t know what they were singing, they smiled to see and hear the band actually having fun with the song.

And then a few people jumped to their feet, and headed for the open place presumably left clear for dancing, as they slid seamlessly into their set playlist. Eggsy fell into the rhythms quite happily, and didn’t even care that the scenery had changed. There was nothing but the music, the dancers, the pair of warm eyes watching him, _only_ him, and the complete euphoria of performance.

They played for an hour, and then stopped, because word had arrived, via some strange toff magic, that they were making “too much of a racket” for Lady Virginia’s other houseguests. So they moved to the lawn, and the little open-sided gazebo, which mysteriously sported electrical outlets and strong, portable speakers. Eggsy enjoyed this round even more, because the way their music echoed across the estate was exhilarating, and it was hilarious how these men in suits and ladies in formal dresses kicked off their shoes, tore off their jackets, and danced exactly like the experienced clubbers back in London.

Galahad did not follow them out. That was the only thing that poisoned the evening.

Finally, when they could perform no more, everyone retired to bed. Eggsy helped haul instruments and equipment, and chatted easily with the guests, even flirting a little with some, and didn’t bother trying to work out the confusion of emotion in his chest and head.

He stepped into the front room, the ‘parlor’ of his suite, which wasn’t much bigger than his flat at the club, and felt a shiver of unease, rubbing his arms automatically. Why was _he_ singled out like this? Why couldn’t he be connected to his bandmates, his friends? Even just one door…

He eased through the front room to the bedroom. It was the same size, with the same unwelcoming vibe—but there was a new addition. He smelled it before he saw it; a fluffy white globe, placed in a small vase on the nightstand…

Eggsy was across the room in seconds, snatching the gardenias straight out of the vase to hold them under his chin and take a long, deep gulp of their scent. Galahad. It had to be. But why? Eggsy didn’t really care at that point. He put the flowers back, gently, and threw himself down on the bed, smiling like an idiot at the gift.

There was a rectangle of paper under the vase. He pulled it out, eagerly, and started reading.

His smile did not last to the end of the note.

~~~\0/~~~

 _Eggsy,_  
                _I would like to begin with an apology. I have lied to you. I am very sorry about that. I am not a tailor, my name is not Galahad, and I do not attend the club regularly based solely on the excellence of your martinis—although if I were not already assigned to be there I would probably be forced to use that excuse._  
 _To be perfectly frank, I am undercover. At the moment I have been hired by Lady Virginia to guard her guests and find a certain person. That is what I meant by saying you are in a dangerous situation; there are intrigues playing out in this house that are poised to affect everyone, and there is bound to be at least one fatality. I would tell you more, but I cannot even be sure of the security of the written word. The most I can say is that you must be on your guard; there is only so much I can do to keep you safe. The bracelet is the best I can give you._  
                _If you can find it in yourself to forgive me, that would be exceedingly marvelous. If you cannot, I understand completely._

_H.H._

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy couldn’t sleep.

She paced her parlor, fully dressed. The clock on her mantelpiece struck 2 AM. 02:00 hours. Why couldn’t she sleep?

She thought she knew. Eggsy wasn’t especially good at hiding his emotions; the obviousness of his reactions to Galahad had been so clear that not one, not two, but _seven_ other guests had come to her asking if they had met before. Roxy had watched the way the two of them had interacted; there was a strange, silly, childish… shyness was as close as she could name it, and that wasn’t at all what it was. But the shyness or whatever had slowly eased, as they… meshed? Fit together? It was like they had moved closer without moving a single inch. It was a little startling, how easily they fell to conversing in absolute silence.

Roxy rubbed her nose, frowning at the lovely rose-patterned rug. No… no, that wasn’t all of it. Eggsy and Galahad were discomfiting, but not something to lose sleep over. Maybe…

She’d been told since childhood that she was intelligent and observant, sincerely and soberly, not just by friends and people who liked her. She had, over the years, developed excellent instincts to go with that intelligence. And her instincts told her that something was not right at Elizabeth and Katrina’s summer party.

What had she observed? Roxy stood in front of the fireplace and closed her eyes. Besides the strangeness with Eggsy and Galahad, there had been other strange things. Why did Jonathon avoid Elizabeth, his fiancée? Why did Rufus, Digby, and Hugo huddle together, muttering and giving Roxy’s people evil looks? Why were the Lilies draping themselves everywhere, the beautiful girls with sharp eyes and ears, who knew everything? How had Nestor gotten in?

It could all just be the usual quarrels and petty politics. But it wasn’t. Roxy opened her eyes and stared at the cold marble fireplace, scrubbed free of soot during these hot months. She was absolutely certain that something was wrong.

Galahad… surely Galahad knew. Was he not a Kingsman agent? Wherever Kingsman was, death was, too. Tristan had explained that much, before Merlin had forbidden him to say more. Yes; Roxy would ask Galahad. Now. Immediately, before she lost this clarity of sight.

She turned sharply and strode to her door, pulling it open—and nearly running into Eggsy.

“Egg—“ she began in surprised, but cut herself off.

Eggsy held out a piece of paper, wordlessly. His face was completely blank. Roxy opened her door further, letting him in as she took the paper. She waited until he’d chosen the sofa facing the fireplace before going to the writing desk and turning on the lamp to read the letter.

So. She’d been right. That didn’t make her feel better; it made her feel sick. ‘At least one fatality’. At least one person in this building was going to die, probably while they were there. Where Kingsman is, so is death.

She tried to say something, but her throat was too dry. She looked around and spotted the bottle of water she’d bought on the train and hadn’t finished; she downed that, and, properly revived, she went over and sat next to Eggsy. He was staring into the fireplace, as she had done, still absolutely expressionless.

“…Are you surprised?” Roxy asked after a space of time.

“Not really,” Eggsy answered. His voice was flat and toneless.

“Do you forgive him?”

“No.”

Roxy nodded. Then she put her arm around Eggsy’s shoulders and hugged him carefully. “Do you _want_ to forgive him?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Alright. We’ll try and forgive him together.”

So they sat for an hour or two, brooding at the fireplace. Then Roxy sighed and stood. She tugged on Eggsy’s arm, and he got to his feet as well.

“Let’s go find and talk to him,” she declared.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy didn’t want to go find Galahad and talk to him, but Roxy was insistent, so he followed her to the library. This late—or early?—not a single light was on. Roxy turned _all_ of them on, and poked in every corner, lifting curtains, checking bookcases, tapping the glass of the display cases under the windows. Eggsy stood in the middle of the room and watched her, equal parts curiously and dully. What was she looking for?

Then a voice from the doorway said, very low, “You wished to speak with me?”

Eggsy whirled and felt his heart jump with something uncomfortably like longing. Galahad stood on the threshold, watching both youngsters with hooded eyes. He looked very different without his umbrella and glasses.

Roxy had finished her search, but she did not look at Galahad. Instead, she looked thoughtfully at one of the windows, and said slowly, “Where Kingsman is, Death is, too. D’you know, I thought he was joking? And now I find he was absolutely serious. No wonder Merlin was annoyed with him. Now, Sir Galahad—no, it’s Hart, isn’t it? Sir Hart, I’m not a spy, or a detective, or part of the military, but even I know that something is rotten, and I think you know what it is. Would you care to explain? Or shall we muddle along and possibly be witness, or fall victim, to a murder?”

Eggsy looked between Roxy and Galahad, and felt a peculiar tearing sensation, right in his chest. He felt that he should stick up for Galahad, but at the same time, Roxy was making perfect sense. So Eggsy looked at Galahad and waited for his answer.

Galahad gazed at Roxy just as thoughtfully as she had gazed at the window. She turned her head and fixed him with her signature eagle-stare, the one that said he had better oblige her, or else.

“You are right,” he said finally. “There is something rotten. But I don’t think this is the best place to discuss it.”

“Where, exactly, would be a good place to discuss?” Roxy inquired innocently.

“The pavilion by the pond is innocuous enough. And I have removed all surveillance from it. Would that suffice?”

Roxy thought for a moment, then nodded once. Eggsy hesitated… then decided it’d be better to get it out of the way immediately. “Why you? Why not someone else?”

Galahad smiled just a little. “That, too, should be discussed elsewhere.”

So the three of them crept through the halls, utterly unobserved, and escaped into the garden. Galahad led the way, with Eggsy torn between walking beside him and walking with Roxy. Finally Roxy pushed his arm gently and smiled. He nodded, a little too eagerly, and stepped a little faster. Galahad glanced down at him and the corner of his mouth curled in that tiny smile that Eggsy was slowly becoming addicted to.

They found the pavilion. Galahad waved his hand and let the other two enter first. Eggsy thought it was very insecure; the walls were fancifully carved wood, and didn’t reach the roof, and thick bushes surrounded the base. But he sat on the edge of the bench and fisted his hands in his lap. It was still dark, and cool, and he was glad he hadn’t taken off his jacket. He hadn’t been able to sleep, thinking about that letter…

Galahad sat next to him. Without thinking, Eggsy scooted a little closer. Roxy snorted. Eggsy glared at her, as Galahad gazed at the roof so he wouldn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I think,” the elder man began slowly, “We should start with what brought me to your club.”

And he explained.

Eggsy felt his eyes get very wide and round, as his jaw started to fall. He’d known there were shady people at the club, but he’d never suspected any of them of smuggling, or murder, or arson. He also hadn’t suspected that Roxy’s papa would contact and hire Kingsman to keep an eye on and clean up the club where his darling little girl worked. Roxy’s eyes flashed as Galahad explained how Tristan had been chosen, but she said nothing. Then, when Tristan had been injured trying to capture one of the drug smugglers, Galahad had been called in.

Here, Galahad hesitated.

It was still dark, though the first sliver of silver predawn was showing in the east. Eggsy looked at the vast, endless sky and repressed a shudder. To get it over with, and to move the story on so they could get inside faster, he blurted, “Why did you stay?”

“Hmm? Oh. Ah.” Galahad actually seemed uncomfortable. Roxy grinned suddenly, a mischievous grin.

“Because he started to fancy one of the staff,” she answered for him, with the most angelic of faces and tones. “So he did his job, but he did it at his own pace, so he had an excuse to keep coming back.”

“Yes,” Galahad agreed shortly. His cheeks seemed a shade pinker than usual. Eggsy looked at his toes. “My boss was… impatient. So he gave me this second assignment.”

“Which is?”

Galahad paused again, choosing his words. “There are tensions, as there usually are. But there is something rotten. You were not mistaken. I have reason to believe—I have concrete evidence that will hold up in any court—that one of the guests is planning to murder Lady Virginia and Lady Elizabeth.”

Eggsy frowned, but Roxy gasped very softly. “Katrina?” she breathed.

Galahad shook his head. “No. Katrina is slight, and quite short; no, if she is involved, she is a planner, not a doer. I am very close to finding the killer.” A strange look overcame his face; part determined, part triumphant, part savage. But it disappeared quickly, and he was back to his unruffled self. “The murders are planned for sometime in the next few days. You will be here until Sunday. That means it will occur while you are in residence. That’s why I gave you the bracelet.”

“Hart,” Eggsy blurted, suddenly remembering. “That jeweler bloke said it was made by a Hart!”

Galahad actually grimaced. “Yes, my cousin, Rupert. He is very talented, and decent enough, but… he is… trying. Very trying. Now then.” He stood suddenly, rubbing his hands briskly. Roxy and Eggsy jumped to their feet. “I believe we should return to our rooms, and perhaps try to get a few hours’ sleep.”

Roxy nodded, though she still looked troubled. Eggsy surprised himself with a yawn, and Galahad smiled.

God, that smile was going to his head like liquor.

The trio trooped back up to the house. They split company at the door between the Old Manor and New. Galahad turned, seemed about to say something, then started to turn away again—perhaps it was just that he was very tired, but Eggsy grabbed his tie, yanked him back, and kissed him full on the mouth. Then he fled down the hall, Roxy snickering as she trotted to keep up.

Their suites were on the same corridor, so, without even discussing it, they positioned themselves in front of their respective doors, counted off on their fingers, and entered their rooms simultaneously. Eggsy immediately went to his bedroom, took off his clothes, crawled into bed, and let the nervous shakes take him. He didn’t get long to wonder at his own boldness before sleep came for him.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry locked his door, sat in his armchair, and found himself touching his mouth, almost wonderingly. Nobody had kissed him quite like that in a very long time. Nobody even wanted to.

He was not an arrogant fool. He knew he’d passed his prime. How could he pretend otherwise, when the grey in his hair was turning white, and every time he looked in the mirror he found new wrinkles? But… he could admit that he’d missed affectionate contact. So while he was startled by the kiss, he was also… happy about it? No, not happy, more like… delighted.

Harry found himself smiling.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy slept in until eight o’clock. Then Erin woke him by pounding on his door and caroling that breakfast was being served; “So get up, lazybones!”

Groaning, he crawled out of bed and to the bathroom. When he finished there, he shuffled about, laboriously pulling on clothes; and when he emerged, Erin grabbed his arm and dragged him through the front room to a different dining hall than the one they’d utilized last night. He let her, as he tried to wake up a little more. He had the strangest feeling that he hoped Galahad wasn’t there, which was ridiculous, because at the same time he was almost pathetically eager to talk to him again—

Eggsy remembered as soon as they entered the room and he spotted Galahad at a table off in the corner. His mouth felt strange for a moment.

But he didn’t get to make a fool of himself, because Erin pulled him over to a table in the opposite corner and sat him down with his back to Galahad. He glared at her; she smiled, and introduced him to the others at the table. Eggsy didn’t bother memorizing their names. He said good morning, and ate what Erin and Sadie set in front of him, and tried not to look as disagreeable as he felt.

He was asked to play tennis. When he admitted to not knowing a single thing about it, at least three young ladies offered eagerly to teach him. Oh dear. That was fast.

After breakfast, he was towed back to his room, and Cedric helped him sort through until he found clothing that could pass for sports-wear. Then he was led outside, to the tennis court, and was taught how to play.

Five matches later, he was told that he was a bit too rough for the gentle maidens who’d coached him—told this by one of the young men who seemed very cocksure and annoying. The ladies scowled and pouted, but let Eggsy be taken away to play against the boys.

He beat them all, of course. Even when it was three against one, he was faster, stronger, and had much better aim. He didn’t try to be graceful or have technique; the ball was going to be _there_ , so he would be _there_ too. Finally the boys grew disgusted and frustrated, and called on their secret weapon: Lady Virginia’s nephew, Oliver, who just so happened to be a world-famous player.

Eggsy won with lazy ease, and Oliver admitted reluctantly that he was probably the best amateur he’d ever played against.

“Are you _sure_ you’ve never done this before?” Oliver demanded, grudging respect in his face and voice.

“Fairly so,” Eggsy replied, and stuck out his hand. “Thanks for the tips.”

Then Oliver grinned, and shook his hand heartily. “You’re welcome. Hey, if you’re not doing anything in a few weeks, my mother’s having a gathering—“

“No, he’s coming to _our_ party!” one of the ladies interrupted, suddenly clinging to Eggsy’s arm. “He’s already promised!”

“I have?” he said blankly, then realized what he’d said. “I, I mean—“

“Stop putting words in people’s mouths, Dahlia!” a young man shouted from across the court, scowling. “He is not invited!”

“Just because you’re horrible at this—“

“Eggsy is not free at all until the holidays,” Roxy interrupted loudly, strolling through the crowd with a racket over her shoulder. From somewhere she had produced a fabulous tennis dress, which exposed how, though she be but little, she is fierce. Eggsy had never known she had that much muscle. “He is, however, free to play against me.”

Eyes widened, and people fell back, speaking in hushed tones. Eggsy began to feel a little nervous.

She beat him, of course. Two matches, she humiliated him, with the same ease he’d shown against Oliver. He lost his fear, and got very angry, and then he remembered.

As they stepped up for the third time, Roxy saw that he had remembered, and was ready; and she grinned fiercely. He returned the expression, and slammed the ball.

He didn’t know how long they played. The sidelines, silent before, now echoed with cheers, hoots, catcalls, and betting. His world narrowed to three things; the ball, his racket, and his opponent. It was hard to catch his breath. He was sweating, and the sweat got in his eyes. His muscles ached, especially his shoulders and back. But he would not back down. He _could_ not back down. He was going to play until he dropped, damn it, and if he hadn’t won by then—

He tried to reach, and realized a moment too late that he wasn’t close enough.

The crowd on the sidelines exploded with noise, and Eggsy stopped, slumped, braced his hands on his knees, panting as he tried to catch his breath. When he looked up, he saw Roxy standing with her hands on her hips, also sweating and breathing hard, but grinning. He laughed, but it was faint and breathy, and staggered to the net; she came forward as well, and they shook hands.

“So I suppose I gotta practice,” he gasped.

Roxy laughed too. “My dear, I had lessons with Stefi Graf, and if _she_ says I’m a challenge, I’m going to believe her.”

Eggsy grinned. He realized he’d been having _fun_. When was the last time _that_ had happened?

It didn’t matter. He wrapped his arm around Roxy’s shoulder, and said, “I’m still gonna practice.”

She just chuckled.


	6. The one where Harry gets stern and murder is attempted

The day passed in a whirlwind of contradictions. Eggsy couldn’t tell if he was being congratulated for surviving so long or jeered at for finally losing. They all went inside to clean up for lunch, and Eggsy was so tired he almost nodded off over his steak; but he wasn’t allowed to because after lunch he was invited to play cards, and although Lady Virginia was anti-gambling, she had put no ban on betting—this time.

Eggsy lost five pounds. Then he won twenty quid. Then he won more, and more, and more.

“Commoners always cheat,” one lad announced, standing abruptly and throwing down his cards.

Eggsy just smiled, and won again.

By the time he was expelled, laughingly, he had won roughly £150, a pair of ruby cufflinks, a delicate silver necklace with an enameled waterlily on it (mum would definitely love it), and a pair of shoes. He went to his rooms and hid his winnings, just in case the original owners wanted them back, and stepped out to be met by Galahad.

They took a walk in the gardens. They didn’t talk, just wandered, always avoiding other people, staying out of sight. Eggsy got the distinct impression that Galahad was gathering his courage for something, and he thought he could guess what it was.

So, when they stepped beneath a particularly lush willow tree near the edge of the pond (which was more of a small lake), Eggsy reached up, put his hand on Galahad’s cheek, started to pull him down—

Two fingers rested ever so lightly on his lips. “No,” Galahad murmured. “We need to talk about that.”

Eggsy slowly withdrew, and the fingers lifted. “Talk about what?” he asked, trying not to sound too suspicious or hurt.

“About…” Galahad seemed to struggle for a moment, looking out over the pond, frowning. Then he turned back to Eggsy, and said, “You do know that I am much older than you.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Only technically.”

“And I knew your father.”

That made Eggsy blink. Then he felt a rush of excitement, and a sense of wonder, and he grabbed Galahad’s arm. “You did? You did?!”

Galahad looked away again. “Yes. He… saved my life. And I… was the one that got him killed.”

_Take care of your mum._

The excitement and wonder vanished. Eggsy let go of him. Then he backed up a step. And another.

No… no, no, no…

“He was training to be one of us,” Galahad explained, still looking away. His face was absolutely expressionless. “I sponsored him. We couldn’t tell your mother, not then; when he was fully accepted he could explain to you both. He talked about that sometimes. How he knew Michelle would be angry, but she would understand in time. And… we were prepared to give her a job too. We could’ve used her mind. You would have grown up in our circle, our protection. Lee was… very confident. He had reason to be.”

“And you got him killed.”

“Yes.”

Eggsy couldn’t look away from Galahad, frozen with so many contradictory emotions—and that’s why he saw the little glint of wet on Galahad’s cheek. The elder man cursed softly and turned away further, putting his back to Eggsy.

Had he loved his father? Had he cried before he gave Michelle Unwin the news? Was this the only reason he’d shown any interest in Eggsy? He didn’t like these thoughts. But when he saw Galahad’s shoulders hunch, just a little, and his head droop, he couldn’t help it, he came forward three steps, tugged his sleeve, and when Galahad turned a little, Eggsy hugged him. He pressed his face against Galahad’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and smiled just a little as Galahad returned the embrace, awkwardly.

“I only got one question,” he lied, quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did you like him the way you like me?”

“No.” Galahad raised one hand and stroked Eggsy’s hair. “He was my friend. My little brother. And that is part of the problem. You’re his _son_ —“

“But I’m not your nephew.” He was very glad Galahad didn’t stop running his fingers through his hair. “And you ain’t my uncle, that’s for damn sure. So you like me. I like you too. You’re an ass for not telling me sooner—“

“I—“

“—but you never had the chance. I know.” Eggsy closed his eyes and pushed his nose under Galahad’s tie. His cologne was very nice. “Thanks for getting it out of the way.”

Galahad didn’t reply, just resettled his arms around Eggsy.

They stood there for a time, holding each other tightly. Then Eggsy lifted his head and tilted his chin up, and Galahad obliged with a kiss. It was very good. He liked it very much.

They had to stop, though, because it was almost time to go back. Eggsy had promised to sing before dinner, and Galahad’s presence was required by Lady Virginia. They let go of each other, reluctantly… then Galahad leaned down and kissed Eggsy’s neck, startling a squeak out of him, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the path.

Eggsy put his hand over the spot on his neck, and tried to stop grinning so giddily.

He had to run to get to the veranda on time, but that helped work off some of the tension and confusion of that… chat. His mouth still tingled a little, as did his neck, but surely that was just in his head. Surely the glow in his chest wasn’t visible.

Roxy met him at the door. She took one look at him and said sharply, “What did he do?”

Eggsy felt the Opposite Urge again; he wanted to shove past without a word, but he also wanted to tell her every detail, and describe those kisses, and—he settled for, “We have some stuff to work out. That’s all. Am I still supposed to sing?”

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy watched Eggsy very carefully all evening. He seemed unusually thoughtful, and fairly scowl-y, but at moments when he probably thought no one was looking, his hand rose to touch the side of his neck and he started grinning like an idiot. Then he’d catch Roxy watching and snatch his hand away and be grumpy again.

She didn’t want to ask, but when he was asked to sing a love song and he put an unusual amount of feeling into it, Roxy drifted away, taking her time; out of the room, down the halls, to the room where the older guests sat about and moaned about the youngsters. She knocked politely on the doorframe, and when they all looked up, she said respectfully, “I am very sorry to interrupt, but do you have a moment, Sir Hart?”

“Of course,” he said, and stood, still holding his glass of whatever. He stepped out into the hall, and the two of them walked a little ways before Roxy turned on him.

“And what exactly were you and Eggsy discussing this afternoon?” she demanded in a low voice.

“I’m not sure it concerns you,” he dodged calmly.

“It does when I’m his manager and at least twenty people have asked what your connection to him is.”

Galahad’s face went very still then. After a moment, he answered, “I told him something important. We discussed it a little, and he said he would think further on it.”

“He’s been thinking, alright. He’s been thinking so hard I can’t get three intelligent words out of him. Whatever you discussed—“

“ROXY!”

Galahad’s head snapped up, and Roxy spun. Barreling down the hall came Erin, and her expression made Roxy suddenly very alarmed.

“Roxy I tried to stop him but he won’t listen to me and Owen and Adio are trying to hold ‘em back but I don’t know if—“ And Erin burst into tears as she stumbled into Roxy’s arms. Roxy held her as she sobbed, and exchanged a look with Galahad.

“Go,” Roxy said to him.

He handed her his glass and sprinted in the direction Erin had come from.

Roxy held the younger girl for a moment, calming her. Quickly, she got her turned, and they started down the hall again, at a fast walk, then a jog, then a run. Now Roxy could hear shouting, and the sound of a fight, and her heart jumped into her throat—

“ENOUGH.”

That harsh, ringing voice made Erin stumble and Roxy freeze. Was that really Galahad? It was such a quelling voice.

The two women crept closer and peeked through the doorway.

It looked like a miniature hurricane had blown through. Almost the whole party had gathered for a pre-dinner dance, and at the end of the room full of tables and chairs, the furniture was smashed and thrown aside, people were pressed against the walls, and Eggsy was kneeling on another man’s chest, fist still poised to descend. Both combatants were bleeding and bruised, though Eggsy had taken considerably less damage. Both were staring at Galahad, who advanced on them slowly. Even with his back to them, Roxy shivered, and Erin pressed a little closer to her. Roxy surprised herself with the hope that he did not turn around.

“What is this?” Galahad demanded, disgusted. His voice echoed in the silent room. “You act like common brawlers, in the Duchess’s own hall. What kind of gentleman lowers himself to this? Stand up, both of you.”

Slowly, insolently slowly, Eggsy eased off of his opponent and stood, wary anger in every line of his body as he watched Galahad out of the corner of his eye. The other boy, Nestor, Roxy was not surprised to see, scrambled to his feet, turned full to Galahad, and immediately whined, “He started it, milord, he said he—“

“Shut ya fuckin’ face, cunt,” Eggsy snarled, “And get ya fuckin’ finger outta my face before I shove it up yer fuckin’ arse.” Nestor fell back a step, eyes widening. Roxy didn’t blame him; she had never seen Eggsy so furious.

Galahad was more than a match for him, though. He stepped forward and grabbed both lads by the ear, twisting hard. Nestor winced and whimpered, but didn’t fight. Eggsy snarled and fought, until Galahad turned his head just enough to stare at him. Roxy couldn’t see Galahad’s face, but she could see Eggsy’s, and her jaw dropped in awe when she saw the animal fury vanish, the flush of anger drain away, and he actually lowered his eyes, looking thoroughly ashamed.

“You, I expected,” Galahad said, so frosty that Roxy could feel the ambient temperature drop about ten degrees. “You need to learn control, boy.” Then he turned to Nestor, and Roxy swore she could see her breath fog. She could see just a sliver of Galahad’s face, and it made her very uneasy. Erin clung to her, shivering. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

“And you,” Galahad said softly, in a very dangerous voice, “Are a disgrace to the name you wear and the family that whelped you. Think shame on you, Nestor. I wonder what your father will say when I inform him of this incident.”

Nestor gasped, fear washing over his features. “Please, Uncle Harry, please don’t tell father,” he stammered, but stopped as Galahad twisted his ear harder.

“It is not your father you should be afraid of,” Galahad informed him. There was no mercy in his tone or face. “ _I_ am who you should be afraid of.”

Nestor nodded as best he could, absolutely terrified.

Galahad let go of him and Eggsy. Nestor shrank in on himself, shivering and sniveling. Galahad pointed to the door. Nestor ducked his head and ran, almost tripping over Roxy and Erin; he looked at them with fear-glazed eyes, did not recognize them, and fled down the corridor.

Eggsy stared at the floor, fists clenched tight at his sides. Galahad grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him to the door as well, and Roxy was half afraid he actually _would_ punish Eggsy—

But she needn’t have worried. As soon as they were out of sight in the hall, a little past Roxy and Erin, Galahad let go, and instead wrapped his arm around Eggsy’s waist, and murmured something that sounded worried and apologetic. Eggsy’s shoulders relaxed, and he laughed a little, bitterly.

“He insulted mum, that’s all,” he assured the other, loud enough for the ladies to hear. “And Roxy. And the whole band. Sadie punch him first, but—I—lost my temper, I guess,” he finished in a mumble, hanging his head again. Galahad took a breath, then saw Roxy and Erin looking, and gave them a glare so pointed that Erin squeaked. Roxy immediately turned her back, spinning her younger employee around too. She thought she heard another murmur, and a soft sound like a kiss, and then Eggsy said tiredly, “It’s alright, Erin. You don’t have to—“

Erin escaped Roxy’s sheltering arm and darted into the room, where voices were beginning to rise, and there were sounds of furniture being righted and pushed into place. Roxy sighed and stayed right where she was. Another moment of silence behind her; she gave them five seconds, then turned, and didn’t bother smiling to see them pull apart so sharply.

“Now what?” she asked tiredly.

A pause, as all three of them looked at each other. Then Eggsy looked up at Galahad and asked, “Are you really going to hit me?”

“No,” Galahad answered immediately, one hand rising to brush gently against Eggsy’s abused ear. The icy fury was replaced by barely-hidden guilt. “I… acted as I am used to. I am sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’d’ve been pissed if you didn’t get mad at me.” Eggsy tried a smile, and it turned into a wince. Roxy could see now, as she inched closer, that he had a black eye, his nose was bleeding, and his lip was split. That was all on his face, but he was holding his ribs, and he was favoring his right foot. Galahad noticed all these things too, and opened his mouth to say something, but Eggsy cut him off before he began with real curiosity; “You’re that bastard’s uncle?”

“Thankfully, no,” Galahad answered stiffly. “His father is my father’s youngest brother, which makes Edward around my age. Nestor and his siblings are in the habit of calling me ‘uncle’ because our grandfather is an insufferable ass and planted the idea in their heads when they were toddlers. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“If you send me to my room in disgrace, I’ll feel better,” Eggsy replied, with a hint of his usual impishness. Roxy, seeing that her presence was unneeded (and unwilling to witness more mushiness), shook her head and went to inspect the damage.

Nestor had not been the only young man to fall victim to Eggsy’s superior fighting skills; Hugo and Rufus had matching bruises, and Owen was fussing over the knot on the back of Adio’s head. Digby was sitting down, knees tight together, holding a makeshift icepack to his crotch and looking very green in the face. Roxy felt a fierce, cold approval. Maybe injured testicles would keep him from harassing the ladies for a time.

She cleared her throat, and every eye fixed on her. She clasped her hands behind her back and said clearly, “While Sir Hart finalizes proper punishments for those two, I think explanations are in order.”

That let loose the flood. Everyone had a different account of what had happened, up until the moment when Eggsy had “snapped” and gone for Nestor’s throat. Roxy was inclined to trust her people more than the other guests—they knew Eggsy, and they knew what it would take to make him explode—but she refused to dismiss anyone. Which meant it took about an hour to piece together a story that almost everyone agreed on.

The moment Roxy had left, Nestor had cornered Eggsy and begun insulting him and accusing him of sleeping with all of the ladies in the band. That wasn’t new, so Eggsy had just shrugged him off. Sadie, however, had finally had enough and punched Nestor in the throat; that was what made Nestor start on her, and when Eggsy got in the way, he’d said something very rude about his mother, that nobody wanted to repeat. Roxy could guess, though.

That was when Eggsy had attacked. Digby, Rufus, and Hugo had jumped to Nestor’s defense, and been removed quickly. Owen and Adio tried to keep them apart, but Eggsy had been beyond reason at that point. Katrina mentioned how he hadn’t looked quite sane, and was hushed by at least half the group. Roxy looked to her band, and her heart sank as she received slight nods.

“What did he say, though?” Roxy demanded of them all. “What did he say to Eggsy? I _know_ the boy, damn it, he wouldn’t snap over a casual insult.”

Elizabeth finally whispered it in her ear. Roxy went very quiet. Oh. Yes, that would do it.

Servants arrived to finish cleaning up. The party broke into groups, and dispersed. Roxy and her band went outside, to stand in the last of the summer sun and talk quietly.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy actually enjoyed Galahad’s fussing. It was funny, and a little relieving, after that sickening moment when he’d been sure that Galahad hated him because of one little fistfight. He especially liked it when Galahad insisted on inspecting his injuries.

“Cracked,” Galahad murmured as he looked at the huge bruise on Eggsy’s ribs.

“Kiss it better?” Eggsy teased, grinning.

Galahad leveled a severe look at him, and instead kissed his black eye, very gently, and then the tip of his nose. Eggsy decided that was an acceptable substitute.

Finally, Galahad admitted that he had to leave, and pretend he’d given Eggsy a right dressing down, so that he could go punish his cousin before leaving him to the father’s tender mercies. Eggsy agreed, though he was disappointed. Galahad embraced him gently, kissed him, promised to come back later, and left.

Leaving him to stew in thought and pain for the rest of the evening.

Eggsy retreated to his bedroom and laid on top of the blankets, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling. The gardenias beside him scented the air, and made his chest hurt even more.

He’d been so _cold_ … Eggsy had been so wrapped in rage that he hadn’t even recognized him at first; all he knew was that someone was even angrier than he was, and that the anger was not directed at him. That was what had made him stand up and stop trying to kill Nestle or whatever his name was. He _would_ have killed him, too. Eggsy didn’t bother lying to himself; if no one had stopped him, he would’ve killed Nestle.

Just thinking about the things he’d said made Eggsy shake with rage. He clenched his fists on the blankets, clenched his jaw, clenched his stomach muscles, and ordered himself to _stay down_.

He should be glad he was stopped. He should be grateful. But how could he be grateful, when his memory showed him a face as hard as granite and eyes as cold as dry ice? And his ear still hurt.

He dozed a little, but couldn’t actually sleep. When his mind got tired of obsessing over how quickly Galahad flipped between Stone Royalty and Fuss-and-Fret, it went back to their earlier conversation, which he’d been thinking about constantly anyway.

There was no way around it. Galahad didn’t like him, no matter what he said or how warm and plentiful his kisses were. He just felt guilty because of his dad. That had to be it. Eggsy had seen it before; it hurt to be part of this elaborate lie, but he couldn’t just back out now. And… and he really, really wanted to believe the lie, too. Could he do it? Pretend that hard, for as long as it took for Galahad to come to his senses or get over his guilt? He’d have to. Already the thought of telling him to go to hell made his heart lurch and his eyes burn. He’d have to stick it out, and try not to let on that he knew it was all doomed.

But what if it wasn’t? whispered a tiny voice in the back of his head. What if it wasn’t doomed? What if Galahad really did like him, and would’ve even if he’d never known his dad? What if he meant those kisses, and that flash in his eyes when Eggsy had taken off his shirt hadn’t been his imagination?

No, that was too much like hope. Eggsy didn’t trust hope anymore.

But what if…?

He slept.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry stood to one side and watched with cold detachment as his uncle—two years his junior, funnily enough—gave cousin Nestor a blistering lecture. Nestor stared at his toes and took it like a man.

Harry narrowed his eyes, annoyed. Where was the fear? Where was the respect? Did Uncle Edward have _any_ control over his spawn? Apparently not. The only control he had…

“I am freezing your allowance,” Edward announced, and Nestor’s head snapped up, as the son gasped and gaped at the father. Edward continued over his noise-making, “ _And_ I am sending you home. You insult the guests of your grandmother, you pay the price. Go pack your things and get out.”

Nestor left meekly, slinking like a dog. Harry felt nothing but disgust when he looked at the boy. So he turned back to Edward and said calmly, “Are you sure that will be enough?”

“Bloody hell, Harry, didn’t you _see_ his injuries?!” Edward burst out, glaring up at his taller, and older, nephew. “That singer lad whooped him proper, alright. I don’t need to do _anything_ to him.”

Harry nodded, because what he wanted to say would only anger Edward further. Sadly, he and his uncle had had enough clashes over Nestor’s abominable behavior that Edward knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I don’t know what they did to you in the Marines,” the younger man declared, drawing himself up, “But I know that it must have permanently damaged you in the head. Nestor is not a brawler. He barely survived training for rugby! If he doesn’t learn from this incident, he’ll just have to get beat up again some other time. I refuse to abuse my own son.”

Harry did not bother pointing out how spoiling the brat from birth was just as effective at ruining a person as abusing them. He had already said it, and Edward never listened. So he said, “Perhaps it will set you at ease to know that I have spoken to Gary, and he agreed to leave Nestor be as long as they are both on this property.”

Edward sighed, his relief plain, and patted Harry’s arm. “Thank you, Harry. That is good to hear.”

~~~\0/~~~

“So I should just let him go?!” Eggsy snapped, outraged, as Galahad wrapped his strained ankle. It was midnight, everyone was abed, and Galahad had refused to come into Eggsy’s suite any further than the front room. “He gets to fuckin’ go home to his fancy house in Belgravia and be treated like a war hero, and _I_ have to stay here with all these other fuckin’ snobs, one of which might or might not be a fucking _murderer_?!”

Galahad rose just enough to sit next to Eggsy and wrap his arm around the other’s shoulders. “How did you know he lives in Belgravia?” he asked, absolutely calm.

Eggsy snorted and settled against him. “He’s just the type,” he muttered.

“Mm. You’re very observant. No, you do not ‘have’ to stay here. I could pay for your ticket—“

Eggsy shook his head and tilted it back on Galahad’s shoulder to scowl up at him. “No. Who’s gonna look out for _you_ if I leave?” he pointed out. “It ain’t gonna be any of the other old people here.”

“True,” Galahad agreed, gazing at the fireplace. Eggsy looked down at his freshly-wrapped ankle, and almost smiled as Galahad immediately turned his head towards him. He was learning his twitches; at times he refused eye-contact, and if Eggsy wanted to feel that warm gaze, he had to look away first. It was annoying, but not infuriatingly so.

Galahad kissed his shoulder. Eggsy bit the inside of his cheek as his hands clenched. He liked those kisses. He _really_ liked them. But he didn’t dare say or indicate that. They’d only just… acknowledged, that there was something between them. It was too soon for… for…

Another kiss, under his ear. He stifled a tiny moan. It had been _so long_ since he’d done it…

“I’m sorry,” Galahad whispered, a little hoarsely. “I shouldn’t.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t.” Eggsy wanted to say it loudly, but it came out a mumble, and his voice wasn’t as flippant as he meant it to be.

“Perhaps…”

“Am I interrupting?”

Galahad was on his feet in half a second, unruffled and calm. It took Eggsy a few blinks to get out of that very dirty place, and he looked up dumbly, slightly distracted.

Lady Elizabeth stood in the doorway, dressed only in pajamas and a dressing gown. She stared at the two men, and they stared back.

“No,” Galahad said finally. “Not at all. I was just leaving.”

Eggsy couldn’t help looking up, mouth open to protest, but Galahad was already leaving. Elizabeth moved out of his way—and further into the room—and watched him walk away for a moment, thoughtfully, before she turned back to Eggsy. He wasn’t looking, scowling at his ankle and wondering what Galahad had been about to say.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Elizabeth asked, quietly.

Eggsy nodded, finally looking up. “I ain’t apologizing,” he said flatly, as she closed the door.

She smiled faintly, and walked over to sit in the chair next to him. He noticed that she wasn’t as graceful as she had been earlier that day; she walked heavily, and when she sat, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The dead-rose smell was washed away, replaced with lilac soap. She looked so like Erin, or Roxy, or Mari, sitting in his chair in her plain blue pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers, her long hair tied in a loose braid, that Eggsy couldn’t help automatically feeling a sort of sympathy for her. She looked very tired, and sad.

“I don’t want an apology,” she assured him softly. She stared him right in the face, and Eggsy felt a sense of relief, that finally someone would look him in the eye. “I want to know what you meant by someone being a murderer.”

He snorted, not even wondering how long she’d been listening in to hear that. “You don’t beat ‘round the bush, do you? I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you…”

“But you will anyway?”

Eggsy nodded again, reluctantly. “It’s your party, after all. Me an’ Galahad—sorry, Harry—an’ Roxy think someone’s planning to kill a couple people here. I can’t do shit, and I don’t think Roxy can either, but Gala—Harry might be able to.”

Elizabeth also nodded, and leant her chin on her knees. “That is good to know,” she murmured. “I’d trust Sir Hart with my own children if I had any. He’s a good man. Mama and Auntie say he was with MI6, one of their top operatives.”

He couldn’t help smiling a little. He liked that thought; that other people thought Galahad was as splendid as he did.

“Why do you call him Galahad?” Elizabeth asked.

“That’s the name he uses at the club,” Eggsy explained. “And—I dunno, it just fits him better than ‘Harry’.” He wrinkled his nose, and Elizabeth smiled too. “Sir Galahad, knight of England, protector of the innocent, etcetera.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

Eggsy looked down. Elizabeth giggled, tiredly. “It’s alright,” she continued, rocking back and forth a little. “I won’t tell. He was my first crush. And Katrina’s. And… oh, it seems like all of us have fancied him at some point. But he was always far away and—cold.” She tilted her head and eyed Eggsy. “He’s not cold around you, though,” she observed.

Eggsy shrugged, uncomfortable. To change the subject, he asked, “Why are you here? I mean, takin’ a walk’s pretty dangerous right now; why did you come here, instead of to someone you know?”

Elizabeth looked down. Her face was closed and thoughtful. She was actually quite beautiful, Eggsy noted absently; but he felt no thrill, looking at her. The dirty thoughts that chased through his mind when Galahad touched him were nonexistent when he looked at Elizabeth. That was good, wasn’t it?

“If I told you that I feel safer here than in my own room,” she began slowly, gaze rising to meet his again, “Would you believe me?”

Eggsy thought before he answered. “…Yes. It’s only the band in this hall, yeah? And I know for a fact that none of us would ever, _ever_ want to hurt you. Honestly, I can’t say the same for most of the others. So yeah. I believe you.”

The relief on her face made him feel incredibly guilty, and he wasn’t sure why. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“…Do you want to stay here overnight?” Eggsy asked, awkwardly, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Or do you wanna go over to Roxy’s? She’s in better shape to keep you safe.”

Elizabeth rocked for a bit, biting her lip. Then she murmured, “It would probably be better all-around if I stayed with Roxanne.”

Eggsy nodded and stood, helping Elizabeth to her feet as she uncurled. Then he escorted her down the hall, and knocked softly on Roxy’s door, and blinked as it was opened almost immediately.

Roxy looked at the two of them, and her face turned grim. “Get in here, both of you,” she ordered quietly. “I don’t think any of us should be in Eggsy’s space tonight.”

“But—“

“Galahad will understand. Now get _in_.”

So they did.

The three of them camped out on the floor of Roxy’s bedroom. Eggsy sat leaning back against the door, so he could listen for intruders, and hopefully be ready to hold the barricade if anyone tried to force their way in. Elizabeth and Roxy braided each other’s hair again, and then they all three talked softly. Eggsy was nodding off, and Elizabeth’s head was leaning on Roxy’s shoulder, when the outer door opened and shut.

Eggsy was on his feet immediately, checking that the locks were secure, and moved out of the way to let Roxy and Elizabeth push the heavy, solid oak desk in front of the door. Then the three of them retreated to a far corner, and waited with bated breath.

Someone tried the knob. When it didn’t give, they rattled it, and strained; but the locks were solid and did not give way. Whoever it was walked away, disgusted.

The three youngsters in the corner let out their breath, safe—

Something slammed into the door, hard. Elizabeth yelped, Roxy jumped, and Eggsy shot to his feet, drawing the pistol Galahad had given him before tending his injuries. He felt no pain in his ankle or chest. He felt only a single-minded determination to protect his friends.

Another slam. The desk jolted. The locks squeaked. Eggsy waited.

In the amazing clarity, he counted six assaults. Then whoever it was went away again.

Eggsy did not relax. Even when an hour passed and no further attacks were made, he stayed primed, ready, pacing slowly with his eyes on both the door and the window. Elizabeth and Roxy sat on the bed. Eventually, Elizabeth closed her eyes and slept, leaning on Roxy, who supported her and watched Eggsy pace. Her hand wrapped comfortably around the hilt of a pistol of her own.

The sun was well up when they decided it was safe to come out. And just as they shifted the desk out of the way, they heard a shrill, drawn out, absolutely horrified scream, far above them.

“Mother,” Elizabeth said, and ran for the door. Eggsy and Roxy followed.


	7. The one where everyone is angry and Dee is useful

“This is ridiculous,” Eggsy stated clearly.

“Trust me,” Elizabeth murmured, eyes pleading, “It really is for the best.”

Eggsy grimaced, but nodded, reluctantly. Elizabeth kissed his cheek and pushed him gently; he climbed on to the train and ducked into the car, immediately ducking into the closest compartment to throw open the window and lean out and start to say, “And another thing—“

Elizabeth smiled wanly, kissed her finger, and pressed it against the tip of his nose. At that very moment the train jolted into motion; Eggsy banged his head on the window and withdrew quickly, rather confused and very frustrated. Elizabeth waved; he waved back, then retreated back out into the corridor.

Erin was waiting. She grabbed his elbow and dragged him down to a different cabin, where Aaron and Roxy waited. Eggsy glanced in every open door, hoping—but no, he wasn’t in this car.

Charlie had thrown a right proper fit about Eggsy and Roxy—his “most precious commodities”—being detained for questioning. He’d annoyed someone enough, or bribed them enough, to let them rejoin the party, which, ludicrously, continued for three more days. Elizabeth and her mother had gone to the hospital to stay with Lady Virginia as she recovered from the attempted poisoning, leaving Katrina in charge. Katrina was seventeen. She repaid this sudden responsibility by acting her age, and turning the whole thing into an extended pool party with breaks for racing horses.

Eggsy hadn’t brought any trunks. He used this as an excuse to stay out of the pool; apparently cracked ribs and an injured foot could be dismissed as trivial when it came to swimming, but god forbid he have to borrow someone else’s, or run down to the village to grab a pair cheap at the local shop. He was “allowed” to control the music but suffered the consequence of pretty girls in bikinis draping themselves over his shoulders to beg that he play this song or that.

He would have been perfectly alright with such treatment, if it hadn’t been for the fact that, every time he managed to steal away and meet up with Galahad, they’d shared at least one kiss that made him giddy and horny and very dismissive of people who tried to seduce each other with exposed skin. He’d even found himself mumbling promises to never, ever, ever look twice at anyone else ever again.

He _thought_ Galahad had replied with something similar.

The band had played faithfully every night. Eggsy had sung, as he’d promised, though inside he’d raged and railed at these people who partied while innocent people were hurt and those who’d done the harming were at large. Occasionally he’d gotten so angry he’d had to take breaks to stride in the moonlit gardens, muttering and having imaginary arguments.

Galahad always found him at those times, right when he’d wound himself up so high he was on the verge of shouting. It was immensely comforting.

The final day couldn’t have come sooner. Eggsy found himself saying, over and over, “I’ll check my schedule for then,” as people invited him to everything from birthday parties to hunting parties to weddings. Elizabeth had left the hospital to see the band off, and inform Eggsy and Roxy that Galahad—she’d started using that name instead of Hart, which made Eggsy absurdly proud—had sent her word that the police would make arrests the next day.

But she’d also told them to go, and not stay to be questioned. _Ordered_ them to leave. Eggsy couldn’t be proud of that.

“Cheer up!” Aaron chirruped, grinning, as Eggsy flopped down next to Roxy. “This way you won’t have to deal with stupid police!”

Eggsy glared at him. Aaron beamed back.

“He’s annoyed because Galahad’s not here,” Erin whispered to her twin behind her hand, eyes twinkling mischievously. Roxy frowned quellingly, and Erin looked down, though she still smirked.

It had spread among the band like wildfire that Eggsy and Galahad now had an “arrangement”. The consensus, mercifully, was that it was about time, damn it, and if anything happened, they were all firmly on Eggsy’s side. That had been good to hear. He’d been half afraid that…

Well, it didn’t matter. Eggsy turned his thoughts resolutely away.

And ended up on the painful subject of Is This Real.

It _seemed_ real; whenever Galahad smiled at him, he felt it all the way through his skin and bones, making everything inside all warm and mushy, and happy to be like that. It didn’t make sense that he’d be so sure when it was just lovely flowers and lovely words, and yet so doubtful when all he had to do was say his name and he’d be there.

All he had to do… and yet they were in different compartments, completely different trains. They’d get off at different stations, and go home to different places… and Eggsy would torture himself with ‘maybe’s and ‘perhaps’s.

No. No, he refused to sulk. He scowled and sat up and ran his hand through his hair. Alright, so he wasn’t going to think about how it might all be delusions, and he wasn’t going to think about how he still felt responsible for Elizabeth and Katrina. What _should_ he occupy his mind with? Mum, and Daisy. Yes. He’d think about what to tell mum. And wasn’t Daisy standing more or less on her own, now? He wanted very badly to be there for her first steps.

He allowed himself to be drawn into conversation with the twins, as Roxy read her book. It was mostly conversation about the delicious scandals they’d left behind, though they wisely did not touch on the attempted murders, instead focusing on which girls had shoved their breasts in Eggsy’s face the most, and the few boys who had tried to catch his eye too. He tried not to say much, well aware that he had not turned off the mic on his bracelet (which he hadn’t taken off for a moment while at the party), but he couldn’t stop Aaron from implying that Eggsy might have to oblige and pretend interest in one of them, or Erin from protesting that Galahad would probably “eliminate” whoever Eggsy chose as a shield, and therefore he should flirt with as many people as possible.

“I don’t _want_ a shield,” he announced, loudly and irritability, drowning out the twins who seemed to think cheating was perfectly fine when it wasn’t “for real”. “I’ll handle them on my own. And if you start pushin’ people on me, I’ll _personally_ shoot both of you.”

Aaron scowled, but there was a smile at the corners of his mouth. Erin looked appropriately cowed, though she gave him sly sideways glances. Eggsy held tight to his temper. They may be happy for him in that his heart wasn’t broken (yet), but obviously they were also perfectly happy to imply that he didn’t have the self-control to resist a skimpy skirt, or indeed that he’d want one at all; that made him very, very angry. And they called themselves his _friends_?

He got up to take a walk up and down the car, as much to find a private place to reassure Galahad he would never chase anyone else as to stretch his legs. Every compartment had people in it. The band did not have an entire car to themselves this time around; they had to share with other people with money, some of which had been at the party. He made himself smile whenever a door was open and folk recognized him, but he didn’t stop to chat. He just walked, up and down, up and down, up and down. No, there was nowhere to be private and careful and alone.

He was passing another open door, the one at the very end, when he heard from within, “Eggsy. Would you care to sit with me?”

Eggsy immediately darted inside and plonked down next to Galahad, scooting over and grinning, a little giddily, as Galahad wrapped his arm around Eggsy’s waist. “I thought you were on a different train,” he said lamely.

Galahad gave his smallest smile. “I was,” he replied blandly, “But I transferred.”

“Good.” Eggsy settled comfortably in the curve of Galahad’s arm, and borrowed his umbrella to tug the door closed with the handle. He refused to stand, now that he was finally comfortable.

They sat in silence for a while. Then Galahad murmured, ever so casual, “I didn’t catch all of what the twins said—“

“They’re idiots,” Eggsy interrupted flatly, gazing out the window. “I don’t think either of them have ever been in a relationship.”

“So you’re not going to forget me the moment a sufficiently lovely woman shows off her curves?” Galahad inquired with a touch of humor. Eggsy didn’t need to look up to sense the tension in him.

“Only if you want me to,” he answered, “And probably not even then.”

Galahad chuckled very softly and raised his hand to run his fingertips through Eggsy’s hair. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“No, but you’re stuck with me.” Eggsy grinned as Galahad chuckled again. That was as close to a full laugh as he’d ever gotten, and Eggsy was ridiculously happy about it.

They discussed the party; Galahad had a particular tone and turn of phrase that made Eggsy suspect he was holding things back, but did that truly matter when Galahad listened to his opinions and observations with such grave respect?

Of course it did! Eggsy was burning to know _every_ thing, and Galahad sensed that, because he kissed Eggsy’s temple and murmured, “When we get home, I’ll explain.” Which didn’t help. But it was something, and Eggsy wrinkled his nose but said nothing.

This was a perilous place to be mushy; what if someone came looking for Eggsy, or flung open the door without knocking? Neither of them wanted it known that they were close. But it was hard to resist when two kisses were all it took to overwhelm the thinking part of his brain, and all he had to do was put his hand on Galahad’s knee to torture him just as much as he was torturing Eggsy.

But Galahad was a gentleman, and this was a public place, and it was time for Eggsy to go back to Roxy and the twins. So they talked a little more to calm down, and when Eggsy stood reluctantly, Galahad stood too and kissed his forehead gently before he left. It was only when he was halfway down the corridor that Eggsy realized he had absolutely no idea what they’d been talking about.

There was the door; Roxy’s head popped into view, and she scowled at him. “Stop disappearing like that!” she snapped when he was in hearing distance. “Do you know how frustrating it is, trying to keep track of you?”

“I ain’t a kid,” Eggsy snapped back.

“You run around like one.” Then she noticed the spot on Eggsy’s neck that Galahad had been particularly interested in, and her eyes widened as her mouth made an ‘o’ of surprise. A glance flicked over his shoulder—‘is he here?’ Eggsy nodded, unable to hide a sliver of a grin. Roxy moved aside and let Eggsy in with a final, warning glare.

“Takin’ a piss isn’t ‘running around’,” Eggsy objected, turning slightly to keep the red splotches out of sight of the twins.

A useless endeavor, of course. Erin seemed to guess, and jumped to her feet to grab Eggsy’s arm, spin him around, and squeal. Aaron guffawed triumphantly, and Eggsy felt the heat of embarrassment—

“I knew you’d take our advice!” Aaron laughed. “So was it Celeste or Selena?”

Eggsy stared at him, uncomprehending. It was Erin who turned on her brother and said furiously, “Damn it, Aaron, stop being an idiot! Egg Man wouldn’t let anyone do that except one person, and you _know_ who it is!”

Aaron went very quiet and stopped smiling. Eggsy began to have a nasty suspicion that Aaron was a borderline homophobe. But Eggsy sat in his abandoned seat and crossed his arms over his chest, slumping down and scowling at them all. Roxy took her place beside him and picked up her book again.

The ride back to London seemed to take much less time. That made Eggsy very happy. Home! Home, where the sky was always grey and strong, where the buildings were tall enough to hold it up; home, where every need and want imaginable (including good quality swimming trunks) was easily fulfilled; home, where his family was. He hid his impatience well, though. Even Roxy was surprised when, as soon as the train eased to a stop, Eggsy leapt to his feet and snatched his bag from the rack and tried to push his way out into the corridor. But everyone else was trying to get out, too; so the four of them had to be careful and shuffle and locate the others when they were out on the crowded platform.

Eggs looked around for Galahad, and was unsurprised to find him vanished.

The cab ride back to the club was what finished the job of exhausting Eggsy. He dragged his luggage to his rooms, shoved it all in a corner, and realized all of his flowers were dead.

Instead of being upset, he felt nothing but a sense of regret. So he’d have to throw them all out and buy new. Or get Galahad to buy him some more. No, he’d buy his own; it wasn’t the same if he _made_ Galahad do it.

But he was tired, so he climbed into his cold, musty—lonely—bed and took a nap.

~~~\0/~~~

“Arthur’s in the dining room.”

Harry nodded and headed up the stairs. He’d brought his briefcase, because he had lots of paperwork for Arthur. That should keep him busy enough to let Harry slip away for the night with no new assignments.

No such luck. As soon as Harry sat down at the table, Arthur pounced. “We couldn’t help noticing that you were very… selective in what you chose to record and report,” the older man stated, with a piercing look.

Harry was prepared for such a comment. “A man can’t have private conversations with those who have nothing to do with his work? Really, Arthur, this paranoia of yours is getting out of hand. Have you seen a psychologist yet?”

Arthur chose to ignore this impudence. “And the fact that all of these conversations were with that singer boy means…?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry replied, completely calm, even as he cursed at himself mentally. “I was asked to keep him in line, and I did so as well as I could while working on my investigation. Speaking of which—“ He bent to pick up his suitcase, but froze when Arthur raised his hand.

“I think this charade as gone on long enough,” Arthur said sharply, his face grave and determined. “What exactly is your relationship with Gary Unwin?”

Harry took his time replying. He picked up the case, unlocked and opened it, and pulled out a thick folder. Only when he had set it on the table, closed the case, and set it down on the floor again did he answer. “I sponsored his father. Lee Unwin. The young man who saved my, Merlin, and Lancelot’s lives. Surely even you remember.”

“I thought that might be it.” Arthur’s flabby face was practically made for melancholia and regret. “Galahad, you know I must ask you to sever contact with him.”

“And you know I must refuse,” Harry riposted smoothly. He was on the verge of losing his temper, and no longer cared what came out of his mouth. “I owe Lee, and I owe—Gary.” The name felt strange in his mouth; wrong, even. “As long as I have this debt I will continue ‘contact’. Now here are your damn reports.” He stood, shoved the folder across the table to Arthur, and made to leave—

“Are you _sure_ you don’t only care for him because of Lee?” Arthur asked, barely loud enough to hear.

Harry was turned away from him, and therefore didn’t bother hiding the expression on his face. How many hours had he agonized over that possibility, examining every iota of emotion evoked? How many nights had he cursed himself for going too far, and in the next breath, not far enough? He knew the answer, knew it intimately. “Yes,” he murmured, and stomped out.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy put all his flowers in a bin bag, and cleaned out the various vases and pots, and hired a cab because he didn’t feel like lugging a box of fragile objects in his arms for so many blocks. When he alighted at the flower shop, they were about to close; he hurried, returning the glass vases and keeping three of the terracotta pots, asking for help choosing the right soil and seeds, and handing over a little too much money. The florist warmed with the extra pounds in her hand, and soon Eggsy had the supplies to begin his own indoor garden.

“Roses like lots of light,” the florist warned him.

“I’ll sleep with my blinds open,” Eggsy replied with determination.

The cab didn’t have to wait long. Eggsy accidentally overpaid the driver too, but he was honest enough to try and give it back; Eggsy smiled, a little weakly, and told him to keep it.

It was the day after their return. The band had not performed, but they had circulated among the guests, talking, suppressing rumors, explaining as much of the truth as they could, etc.; Eggsy had come down to say hello and let everyone know he was alive, then gone straight back upstairs, asking Sadie in a whisper to text him if He showed up. She didn’t need to ask who He was; she’d just nodded, punched Eggsy’s shoulder lightly, and went back to arguing about different kinds of saxophones.

He hadn’t come. Eggsy had called mum instead, and spent an hour chatting with her. Daisy had learned her third word—“Mama!”—and mum had a new job, one which paid much better than her last one, and she’d told Eggsy he didn’t need to help her with bills anymore. She’d sounded so proud and happy, Eggsy had to grin as he congratulated her. When had she last had a job she _enjoyed_? Back when he was very young, surely.

But they couldn’t talk forever. So before they hung up, Eggsy promised to visit the next afternoon. And he intended to keep that promise.

Which was why, after he’d planted and positioned his roses, he washed the potting soil off his hands, arms, and knees, and went out. He’d gotten paid last night, with a bonus for the trouble caused at the house party, and he felt like he should at least take mum and Daisy for dinner. Dean could come too, Eggsy supposed grudgingly. He’d have to be very careful about what he said; didn’t want anybody finding out in a public space.

He was halfway down the street when a parked taxi buzzed down its window and an old, doughy looking man called to Eggsy, “Excuse me, young man, are you Gary Unwin?”

“Um—“ Well, it wasn’t really a secret. So he nodded and said, “Yeah.”

“May I have a moment of your time,” the dough-man commanded; it wasn’t at all a question. Eggsy approached reluctantly, and stood at the edge of the pavement as the dough-man looked him over. He wondered suddenly if this geezer knew Galahad. He had the same indefinable air of an arrogant snob whose arrogance truly was earned, on the field of battle, somehow or another.

After a moment, the dough-man looked satisfied; but not happily. More like a grim triumph. His suspicions had been confirmed. Eggsy felt his face turn sullen and angry without meaning to.

“My name is Arthur,” the dough-man said, and held out a card. Eggsy took it and glanced at both sides. Kingsman—that was Galahad’s agency. “I believe you already know a few of my employees.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to warn you that Galahad probably will not be coming here for some time.” Arthur smiled, as Eggsy looked at him sharply. It was not a reassuring smile; close-lipped and cold as a lizard. “He has other duties to perform. I’m sure you understand. Good day, young man.”

The window buzzed up. The taxi trundled away, like an ungainly beetle. A shiny four-legged beetle carrying a flesh-colored lizard.

Eggsy crumpled the card in his fist, glaring after the lizard’s beetle-car. He felt so full of some unnamed, unknowable rage—

It took four blocks for him to gain control of the rage. Then he worried about Galahad. Then he tore the card into tiny pieces and dropped them in a sewer grate. Galahad would come see him. He just would. He’d promised, and Eggsy knew he’d keep that promise.

He found himself singing an American song that Erin was obsessed with.

“IIII dooon’t caaare if the world knows what my secrets are, secrets are; IIII dooon’t caaare if the world knows what my secrets are, secrets are! So-o-o-o what, so-o-o-o what, so-o-o-o what…”

~~~\0/~~~

“Eggsy Eggsy Eggsy Eggsy!”

Daisy clung to his leg and laughed, babbling his name. Eggsy chuckled too and picked her up, making an over-exaggerated “oof!” as he found that she had gotten heavier as she’d grown. Why that should surprise him, he didn’t know. He just knew he was absurdly happy that she knew his name.

“Hello, Daisy! How’ve you been?” he asked, and grinned as she just laughed again and patted his face with her soft little hands. “Have you been good?”

“Yes!” And she laughed.

The flat was still dingy, and mum was still tired, and there was still an inescapable miasma of muted misery, but Daisy was like a little sun, her smile bright and her high, thin voice filled with laughter. Her hair was still blond, and it was beginning to curl and frizz so it stood up all over her head like dandelion fluff. Eggsy felt the usual protective fraternal devotion, but it seemed to have intensified—or perhaps it was just that the uncertain, unhappy baby of a month ago was showing an irrepressible good nature seemingly out of nowhere.

“She hasn’t laughed like that in days,” mum commented, surprised, as she came over to rescue Eggsy from his baby sister’s infectious cheer. She let go with a pout, but it was soon replaced with a beaming grin at her mother. Eggsy found him grinning again too.

“Well, I’m glad _she’s_ happy,” he replied, and was rewarded with another cooing giggle.

They didn’t get to talk much, because Daisy demanded he play with her, and he wasn’t such a monster as to refuse. Her smiles and laughs were dearer to him than even Galahad’s; Eggsy was sure he would understand.

In fact, once it was established that Dean was out and wouldn’t be back for another hour, Galahad became the subject of the exchange between mother and son.

“Have you spoken to that nice man you fancied?” mum asked with a small smile, as Daisy cheerfully tried to smash a square peg through a triangular-shaped hole.

Eggsy kept his eyes down, but he couldn’t help a tiny grin of his own, as he gently moved Daisy’s arm so the peg went in the right slot. “Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Why did _I_ have to have the gossipy mum?” He took mum’s hand and squeezed it to show he was joking, and answered her properly. “He’s—um—we’re having a go at it. If it don’t work out, no hard feelings an’ all that; but I think it will. For a while, at least.” And he really did. Sitting in his childhood home, with his mum and the tiny star-being called his sister, reflecting on the personal conversations he and Galahad had had and the kisses they’d shared, he really thought it would last, and he would be happy while it did. He felt a slow grin, utterly unlike his previous expressions, spread across his face.

Daisy ruined—no, not ruined; she never ruined anything— _changed_ the moment by laughing triumphantly as she jammed the last peg in its proper slot. Eggsy chuckled and kissed her downy head.

~~~\0/~~~

Michelle watched her children play and pondered that new expression on her son’s face. It reminded her of Lee’s. A little more bitter, a little less sad, but unmistakable.

Young love. Michelle missed it. She’d thought she’d loved Dean, and maybe she had. Now, she wasn’t sure. But she _was_ sure she knew her own child well enough to know he truly believed himself in love. And… that was no bad thing.

She’d never seen him light up like that before.

She smiled, and watched her children, and was, for the moment, content.

~~~\0/~~~

Dean didn’t want to go to dinner with his stepson. Eggsy could not honestly say that disappointed him. He could, however, say that he was very glad Dean hadn’t tried to forbid mum and Daisy from leaving, even though taking Daisy was like taking the sun. The clouds thinned when Eggsy’s baby sister laughed, and the sullen drizzle became a hopeful sprinkle.

Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks. But he wouldn’t count on it.

They went to that Indian place again. Eggsy could never remember the name, mostly because he still couldn’t pronounce it. He knew someone had tried to help him, but he wasn’t sure he’d been paying attention. Daisy brought a slice of sunshine into that dim place, sunshine that only her mother and brother could feel; she looked about with curiosity, shrinking against Eggsy’s chest as he carried her, but when he set her in a chair beside their mum she perked up and smiled again.

Indian probably wasn’t the best for her, being a toddler, but there were very plain things on the menu that were made plainer, and she ate it all with every evidence of enjoyment. Eggsy explained about the disastrous party, leaving out several key pieces (like the fistfight, and the rendezvous, and the pistol he still kept in his rooms), but quite happy to talk about all the details of the party itself and how ridiculously… well, _normal_ everyone had been. He even talked about Galahad. He curbed himself and stuck to the barebones, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Mum had news too: Dean’s mother had agreed to go to a home instead of hire a nurse; Aunt Cat, mum’s sister, was moving to France with husband #4; Eggsy’s school sweetheart was on her third child, and finally had the money to marry her man, and she had asked mum to inquire if Eggsy would sing at the wedding; a new family from Peru had moved in down the row, and their twins had made friends with Daisy almost immediately; mum’s new job was something secret that she wasn’t allowed to talk about yet. From the faint twinkle in her eyes and the rusty, impish smile on her face, she’d tell Eggsy first, as soon as she could. But her coworkers were kind, and her boss was sweet, and she liked the work. And could Eggsy take up babysitting Daisy again? Soon?

“Absolutely,” he confirmed, wiping yogurt off Daisy’s nose.

He hired a taxi to get them all home, and kissed mum’s cheek and Daisy’s forehead, letting her pat his cheeks with her newly-wiped lil’ hands, and went home. He even gave Dean a two-finger salute as he left. Dean returned it warily, but also with a sort of puzzled frown that wasn’t threatening, only mystified.

The night seemed darker without his little sun of a sister, and the stars, when he could see them, weren’t as bright as mum’s smile.

But the taxi was dry and warm, and when he got back to the club, the guests were only just starting to arrive. Eggsy grinned. Part of him would always belong with mum and Daisy; and part of him now belonged to flashing multi-color lights, expensive drinks, and the band. Halfway between two different worlds, and it was… comfortable.

He hurried to the lift. He only had half an hour before it was time, and he still needed to unpack.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was furious.

He stalked through every room of his neat little townhouse and ground his teeth. Wasn’t it just like Arthur, to put him under virtual house arrest? And over what? Some slight sass, a bit of impudence; _nothing_ , compared to what Harry had unleashed on him in even the past year. Harry didn’t even dare use his house telephone, which was, of course, bugged—he himself had planted those devices.

Logically, he knew why Arthur was concerned. Harry was a good agent. He completed every assignment to perfection, he had never let a single syllable of a secret slip, and he had saved more lives than he’d taken; but he was unpredictable. A bit impulsive. His own coworkers were a little bit afraid of him. He was proud of that fact.

That was why Arthur had put cameras on every inch of this house, and ordered him to stay and write up _proper_ reports. He was to type it all up, attach the appropriate audio and video files, analyze the signals picked up by his hardware, and send it all to Merlin, who would analyze, decode, recode, and then send to Arthur. Harry was to be a good little soldier and do as he was told. Never mind that Harry had never been a “good little soldier”, even during training; never mind that he had already sent all the raw data to Merlin, who, honoring the agreement they had worked out between themselves, was organizing and writing it for him; never mind that he was breaking his promise by staying here.

Harry had just let out a flurry of curses in Russian, his preferred language of anger and frustration, and grabbed his coat from its hook, when someone knocked on his door.

Immediately, he replaced the coat, smoothed his hair back with the heel of his palm, and opened the door with complete calm.

An urchin he didn’t know stood on the front steps, beaming. She wore a rather worse-for-wear yellow hooded jacket, even in this heat, though her jeans were cut raggedly about mid-thigh. Her hair was thick, coarse, haphazardly-chopped, and frizzing into a cloud around her dark face. And her almond eyes were a brown so rich and varied it was like looking at living agate.

“Hello!” she chirruped, in an American accent, “My name’s Dee, and I have a message from you-know. Can I come in?”

“Ah—“

“Oh, don’t worry about the cameras and mics and all; they’re seeing and hearing what I want them to.” She tapped the battered headphones hooked around her neck and grinned again, so charmingly that the corners of Harry’s mouth twitched too. He tried to say no, to tell her to go away, but instead he stepped aside, and she skipped over the threshold. He seemed to hear the faintest strains of music, drifting on the air from no particular source; something by Bach, perhaps. And then he closed the door behind her.

The girl looked around with interest, before giving a little jump and a twist to face Harry again, still grinning. “Okay, so the message is kinda short, but I know you’re gonna wanna ask questions ‘cause that’s who you are, but how about we just go with the explanation that Eggsy and I go way, way, way back, okay? He was my best friend when we were in high school.”

“Ah—excuse me, but you don’t look—“

“Oh, I’m _way_ older than I look,” she interrupted, waving her hand as if to banish the thought. “It’s a bit of a curse. Anywho, Eggsy wants you to know that he doesn’t mind if you take a bit, because that dickface Chester caught ‘im when he was on his way to his mom’s and said you wouldn’t be by for a while; I offered to make Chester forget, but noOOOoo, we have to follow the ruUUuuules,” she drawled, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly and twirling her wrists. Then she laughed at Harry’s stunned expression. “Oh, gosh, all you Brits are so cute when you’re surprised! Well, the spell’s running out, but I’ll be by tomorrow to break you outta this joint. You got all that?”

“Ah—“

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, goodbye!” The girl hugged him very suddenly and very tightly, then bounded past him and out the door, slamming it shut behind her. He lunged, grabbed the handle, yanked it open—

—and she was gone.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was reading a book about rose gardening when Dee waltzed right in to jump on his bed and throw her arms around his neck.

“I locked that door,” he told her, glaring.

“I picked the lock,” she retorted, grinning. “Have you any other messages to be sent out, O Famous One?”

“No.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her temple, closing his eye just in time so he didn’t get stabbed by her hair. “Did he say anything?”

“He said ‘ah’ a lot,” she replied, and twisted on her knees to fall down across his lap, right on top of his book. She was worse than a cat sometimes. “I think I confused him.”

“You confuse everyone,” Eggsy replied tartly. He still had no idea why this capricious creature had decided on him as her preferred target, and he didn’t know why she’d come back after seven years of absolutely no contact; but he found himself acting as if they were still in school together, skipping class to play at the arcade, or cleverly trading lunch items so that they ended up with everyone’s sweets. Dee was a mystery, just like those cats she was constantly imitating, and she liked it like that.

She smiled up at him and booped his nose gently. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said confidently. “You’re wondering why I came back. I can’t really tell you, but I _can_ tell you that somebody out there loves you very, very much—a very many somebodies, in fact—and they all want you to be happy. They all want you to be able to smile and say you have someone waiting for you at home, making you dinner or breakfast and keeping your bed warm and mending your socks and ready to talk whenever you need it.”

Eggsy found himself blushing, as he always did when Dee talked like that. She always sounded so certain, and so indescribably _happy_ that she could say it with certainty. “You mean the band?” he guessed, trying not to mumble. “And mum, and Daisy?”

Dee smiled so wide he could see almost all of her molars, and squirmed upright so she could hug him tightly. “And others,” she said. “Tens and dozens and hundreds of people. Not all of them are from London, either. Here. Listen.” She unhooked her precious headphones from around her neck and put them over Eggsy’s ears.

He couldn’t really describe what he heard. He could never describe any of the things Dee made him listen to. But he knew they were people talking, hundreds of voices in dozens of languages—all talking about him. About how brave and smart and kind he was. About how much they admired him. About how they would protect and support him if they could. About how they wished they could meet him, even just to say hello, because he was just _so cool_.

Eggsy felt tears welling up and slipping slowly down his cheeks; but he was smiling, too. He never knew if these things were real; but they felt wonderful. Dee smiled back, and hugged him, and he laughed a little, because he was loved and admired, and they wanted him to be happy.


	8. The one with all the warnings

Dee was gone the next morning, of course. She left a book on Eggsy’s shelf, written by some guy called Carver Edlund, titled “Supernatural”. It was the tenth in the series, and Eggsy was tempted to throw it away—but Dee had, over the years, left him with the first nine, and he’d begun to wonder a bit about what happened next. They were absolute trash. Eggsy treasured them greatly.

Dee had left her mark in other ways, too. The rose seeds Eggsy had planted just two days ago had already sent up tender green shoots, and he knew without knowing that they would grow faster than any plant he’d ever cared for. When Eggsy stepped out his front door, his foot knocked over a pile of cassette tapes. When he looked up and down the hall, he saw cassettes at everyone else’s door, too, and he was sure those who lived above had their own troves waiting for them. He picked up his pile and took them in to sit on his bed for until he came back.

Downstairs in the office, a huge poster of Nicholas Cage’s face spread over the flatscreen.

“FUCKIN’ HELL!” Eggsy shouted furiously. “THAT MEME IS DEAD AND OVER!”

He thought he heard a giggle.

He couldn’t stay angry, though. He’d decided last night, while waiting for Dee’s return, that he was going to visit the jeweler who’d stopped him in the station. He didn’t plan on letting the jeweler actually remove his bracelet and examine it; he just wanted to know why the Harts were important.

Eggsy grabbed a doughnut from the box next to the tea-display—Mari’s parents were co-owners of a bakery chain and often sent treats over after the breakfast rush—and headed for the stairs. He wasn’t sure what the jeweler’s hours were, but he was sure if he could catch them on their lunch hour…

He had to go out the back, because there were guests at the club, and it would not do to have mere employees walk through their midst. The alley was swept, and the bins were locked tight, and there were no beggars or homeless people, but it still rankled. He was the highest-paid person in the band. Why should _he_ have to go through a dank alley whenever he wanted to go somewhere?

“You’re gettin’ spoiled, Eggsy,” he muttered to himself, stomping out onto the pavement. “You’ll turn into a snob soon.”

The card said Crio’s—he wasn’t sure where that was. He _should_ —he’d once dreamed of being a jewel-thief, and raising his family’s status that way—but he didn’t. So he sighed and pulled out his new phone (a genuine Valentine, a gift from Wallas) and pulled up a map.

When he got the route straight in his head, he set off, trying to look confident and like he knew what he was doing. That way, even in the fanciest districts, folk would be less likely to rat him out to the police. He didn’t know if that was true, he just knew that he himself had never been caught in places he shouldn’t have been.

It took a while, much longer than the map led him to believe, but eventually he found his way to the building marked. It looked quite small from the outside, but it might go back a ways. Eggsy tugged his jacket a little straighter, took off his hat, and entered.

It was really quite a beautiful shop. There were glass cabinets all over, showcasing some truly lovely pieces; Eggsy stared around, fascinated, and feeling very small and dirty and unimportant. Those were _emeralds_. Those were _emeralds_ as big as the first joint of his thumb. Six of them! On one necklace! And there was a concoction of pale gems set in a kind of rose gold, all soft green-blues (seafoam-colored, even) and orange-pinks and palest lavender. And over there, a truly gorgeous display of a matching set, necklace, earrings, bracelet, rings—all of delicate silver flowers and tiny diamonds, glittering like little lights through pierced metal. Every piece was more elaborate and fascinating than the last

Eggsy looked down at his plain silver and sapphire bracelet, and smiled. These things were beautiful, yes; but they weren’t made by Rupert Hart, cousin of Harry, called Galahad.

Mr. Walrus himself ducked through a doorway when he heard the bell over the door jingle, and when he saw Eggsy, he fairly trumpeted his greetings. “Hello! Hello, hello, and welcome!” he boomed, circling the counter to shake Eggsy’s hand heartily. “I was hoping you would stop by! I do apologize for not introducing myself properly before; my name is George Crio, designer and creator. Come, come, let’s talk in my office.”

Eggsy found himself being led behind the counter and through a door to a backroom, perhaps a studio, almost as big as the front. There was a young man a little younger than Eggsy bent over a drafting table, painstakingly sketching some lacey design. He didn’t even look up as Walrus George and Eggsy passed through the room and up a solid wooden staircase. Upstairs was more… personal, more inviting, with chairs and tables and soft lights; and the walls were lined with open shelves holding busts and stands of jewelry with little bronze plaques in front of them all.

“My personal collection,” Walrus George explained, waving his hand expansively and puffing out his chest. “But it’s much more comfortable in the office. This is where I let people wait, you see.” He winked hugely, and Eggsy grinned.

“People who don’t appreciate your skills?” Eggsy suggested delicately.

Walrus George chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good! Yes, people who are… less than understanding.”

They moved through the showroom to a door of dark wood that opened on to… an office.

Eggsy was irritated with himself for hoping the office would also be lined with jewels. But the books and paintings were just as lovely; and in the corner stood a little three-foot high pillar, on top of which sat a white porcelain vase topped with a froth of gardenias.

“Do you like flowers?” Walrus George asked, bringing Eggsy back to the present. He realized he’d been smiling a little, and ducked his head as he tried to smooth it away.

“Some,” he answered truthfully, then, because Walrus George looked so very much like an earnest, friendly walrus, he added, “I—um, my sweetheart sends me flowers every week.”

“Ah, young love,” Walrus George chuckled, not noticing how Eggsy’s head ducked lower. “It is wonderful, isn’t it? Let’s sit.”

Eggsy sat in one of the comfortable leather chairs in front of the desk, and Walrus George slid behind the expanse of maple.

“May I have another look at that bracelet?”

“Of course.”

Even though taking it off made his heart squeeze, Eggsy unclasped it—the metal links slid with a sound like silver rain—and held it out. Walrus George laid it flat on the desk and moved a particularly bright lamp closer, his face full of excited interest.

“Goodness, it’s lovely,” Walrus George murmured, and Eggsy was startled to see the same kind of happy smile he saw on the faces of his bandmates, when everything came together and the music carried them like a tide, or Merlin’s when he finished a new gadget, or Johanna when she pulled off a complicated trick. The smile of someone doing something they loved. “Rupert was always gifted, but he truly outdid himself with these.”

“Why did he make them?” Eggsy asked with innocent curiosity.

“Oh, it’s fantastically interesting!” Walrus George exclaimed as he looked up from admiring the settings of the sapphires, with that lens that made his eye huge. “This is the story as Rupert told it to me—“

He then launched into a tale so ridiculously unremarkable that Eggsy struggled not to yawn. There were lots of tangents on how the Hart family was highly regarded because they tended to produce geniuses and all-around fascinating people, and how Rupert was the most talented jewelry designer in the whole of the British Isles. The actual story wasn’t very long, though, so those tangents served some purpose.

Apparently, about thirty-five years ago, Rupert (then a mere student) made up a batch of five bracelets, all in silver because it was cheaper than gold, but set with five different blue-colored stones, gems, and jewels. He’d made them because there was to be a Grand Adventure to the Continent for a cousin’s wedding in Czechoslovakia, and since there were thirteen people in their party heading out, the elder cousins wanted to have a way of conveying that they were a pack—something like those ridiculous t-shirts some families wore on holiday. To be fair, Rupert also made matching gold-and-ruby necklaces for the bride and groom as wedding presents.

Eggsy almost started when George added casually, “But one of the Harts—I think it was that rascal Harry—cancelled at the last moment and couldn’t go. Something about how he was working on a very delicate project and could not abandon it.” George frowned, seeming not to notice Eggsy’s sudden tension. “He was in MI6, I believe,” George continued slowly. “Or was it the Marines? Well, technically he was still a student at Oxford. A strange fellow, Harry Hart. Goes off on adventures, sometimes vanishes for months at a time, is extremely well-known and well-thought of by almost all the police in London; he was a good friend of Princess Diana, as well, took her death very hard. He’s quite obsessed with being a Proper Gentleman. I suppose obsessed is unfair—he is very correct and proper and it’s a bit off-putting at times.”

“ _I_ think it’s sweet,” Eggsy blurted, and then felt a flush of horror and embarrassment as George stared at him. “Uh, I mean, he sounds, um, he sounds—“

“Young man, are you saying you know Harry Hart personally?” George demanded, more fascinated than repulsed.

Eggsy just nodded a little, feeling a little like he was going to be sick.

“Well, no wonder you’re wearing his bracelet! That—“ And then George stopped, and looked at Eggsy again in a rather different way. Eggsy’s nausea lessened enough that he could stare back, defiantly—or, as defiantly as he could with a knot of shame residing in his chest.

“Oh,” George said quietly.

Eggsy wanted to talk back, but his mouth seemed far too dry. The shame made him angry—why should he be ashamed? They had never done or been shameful, they had never shown their mutual affection in public (you couldn’t really count the disastrous murder party), they had never gone farther than a kiss. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

“…Well!” George said finally, a little too loud, a little too hearty. “I’m sure you won’t need _me_ to keep blathering, if you’ve got the original hidden somewhere! Is there anything else I can do for you?”

That was a dismissal if Eggsy had ever heard one. “No, thanks, you’ve been amazingly helpful.” He stood, picking up the bracelet again, and George popped to his feet as well. They shook hands, said goodbye, and Eggsy left.

And promptly started worrying about whether George would tell anyone or not.

Eggsy wandered, lost in dismal thought, crossing streets and turning corners at random, until he was well and truly lost; he’d never been here before, after all, and he wasn’t paying attention. So he wasn’t really surprised when a policeman stopped him and asked him to go back to where he belonged, before he got himself in trouble.

Eggsy raised his hand and scratched his head, letting the other see his bracelet. The policeman stopped in mid-threat, and waved him mutely on.

So. It really _was_ a useful item.

He found himself walking down Saville Row, gazing at the grave-looking buildings and tasteful window displays, wondering what he was doing here. When he found the window that said “Kingsman” in big gold letters, he struggled for three minutes before deciding, rather recklessly, to take a chance.

He hopped up the steps and entered the shop.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry answered his front door with a feeling of dread.

He’d thought about that Dee girl, and the way she acted, and what she’d said, and he was not at all reassured. She could have been a spy. She could have been a trick sent by Arthur, to test his resolve. She could have been anything _but_ a messenger from Eggsy.

But when he opened his door and she greeted him with a grin bright as the sun he felt his own mouth twitch up in response. “I don’t know who—“ he began, determined to attack first, but she interrupted him.

“I said I’d come to break you out, and here I am,” she chirruped, adjusting the band holding back the curly explosion of her hair. “Come on, let’s go to the park. He’ll come through there on his way home.”

Harry barely had time to snag his jacket and umbrella before Dee grabbed his arm and dragged him out his own front door.

~~~\0/~~~

Dee had been listening to the Music more closely of late. It was fainter here; not much magic anymore in London. But where there is music, there is magic, and Dee was the only one listening.

Halfway to the park, she heard the Music of Eggsy’s heart grow discordant, reckless, angry. He was turning aside, no longer following the Music that drew his feet onwards. Dee frowned, and froze where she stood to listen more closely. She ignore Harry’s words and _listened_.

Eggsy was entering the place he should not be, following Music that did not harmonize with his. Dee was a great supporter of harmony; without harmony, there is no melody. But Eggsy should never have even set eyes on such an acrimonious place. He should never have turned his ear to those ugly notes.

Dee abruptly turned and headed in Eggsy’s direction, running across the street at an angle, determined and single-minded as a hound with the scent in her nose. Harry kept up easily, his heart’s Music as determined as hers. Good. He would be useful in extracting Eggsy from that cacophony.

The Music of the heart in the dining room was slow, rhythmic, and cold. A dragon in its den, waiting for the sacrifice.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy walked right up to the old man at the counter measuring fabric and asked bluntly, “D’you know how I can contact Galahad?”

The old man gave him a baleful stare. “I have no knowledge of anyone named Galahad,” he replied, just cold enough to express his displeasure with Eggsy’s interrupting him. “Perhaps you are mista—“

“Harry Hart, then,” Eggsy snapped, beyond patience. “I need to talk to him.” And he pulled out his medal from under his shirt, holding it up on its chain for the old man to see.

The tailor’s cross expression smoothed immediately, and he nodded slowly. “One moment,” he said, and turned and climbed the stairs.

Leaving Eggsy alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of the shop, angry and uncertain what to do with all his anger.

He turned on the spot, gazing around, looking for something to take out these emotions on. His eyes fell on a tempting decanter of whiskey—but he was not one of those people who unwound after a few drinks. And drinking would impair his thinking and speech. As if they weren’t already impaired.

Finally, he settled on pacing. He walked back and forth in front of the measuring table, scowling at his toes, wondering how long it would take to wear down the carpet. He hoped viciously that this establishment was so impeccable that they had to replace every square foot when only a little bit was damaged by angry visitors. It’d serve them right. Although they were all probably so rich they wouldn’t even notice how much it cost.

So rich they wouldn’t even notice…

Suddenly, all the rage towards all these bloody fucking heartless, thoughtless, brainless snobs threatened to overwhelm him; it made his hands shake, his skin flush, his heart pound, his pulse hammer in his ears and throat, his stride lengthen and speed up. He felt dizzy with it, like he was going to be sick, he was so angry. Either that or cut someone’s throat.

Heartless, to party for three days when someone tried to kill their loved ones; thoughtless, to throw flowers and threats and expect compliance; brainless, to worry over carpets when there were people wandering the streets with no floor, or walls, or roof, of any kind. Heartless, thoughtless, brainless, smug insulated cruel blind _useless_ —

“Eggsy—“

He whipped around, ready to snarl—it was Dee rushing to him, and behind her, Galahad. Galahad, in his fancy suit with his fancy watch and fancy haircut, _smelling_ of money, of privilege, of—

—of gardenias.

He thought he heard music.

Just as Galahad opened his mouth to speak, the tailor came back down the stairs and saw them. The old man perked up and greeted Galahad with obvious relief. “Ah, sir! Good evening! We didn’t expect you back for a few days.”

Galahad gave a tiny smile, walking forward to stand next to Eggsy. Dee darted around behind him and grabbed the back of Eggsy’s jacket, tugging urgently. “I finished my business early,” Galahad told the tailor.

“Eggsy, please, let’s leave,” Dee whispered, eyes darting to the stairs constantly. Eggsy had never seen her so frightened and—angry. Dee was _angry_. “This place is bad. It has no harmony.”

Harmony. Seven years, and she still hadn’t given up on that hippy “harmony” shit. Eggsy felt himself begin to scowl, but Dee hissed back, “If you won’t come willingly I’ll make you sick. You know I can do it. I’ll make you puke on Galahad’s shoes.”

She could, too. She’d done it before, when he’d lied to the teacher about being sick to make up for skipping class the day before. Dee had a cruel streak, buried in those cheerful brown eyes. And she could do more than make him sick.

Eggsy went where Dee towed him, glancing back at Galahad; he didn’t want to leave him here, not if Dee was so impatient. But Galahad was already saying goodbye to the tailor, handing some piece of paper over, shaking hands, turning away. Then Dee paused, to let Eggsy hold the door for Galahad.

When all three of them were out on the pavement again, Dee grabbed Eggsy’s shirt and Galahad’s tie, and commanded bluntly, “Now kiss and make up, before you get too angry at each other. And then we’ll go for ice cream.”

Galahad stared at her, absolutely baffled. Eggsy didn’t fight a reluctant grin, then grabbed Galahad’s face, and kissed him passionately. Dee laughed, and Galahad returned the passion as if they hadn’t seen each other for months instead of days.

When Eggsy could breathe, he said, “My flowers are dead.”

“I’ll buy you more,” Galahad promised, and kissed him again.

“I can’t hold the mirage very long,” Dee warned. Eggsy broke away (very reluctantly indeed) and stepped back; Dee let go of his arm and Galahad’s, then laughed again, and tugged their hands. “Come on! I know a place that makes _really_ good raspberry-chocolate frozen yogurt!”

The men shared a look, Galahad doubtful, Eggsy mischievous. Galahad sighed dramatically. “Lead on, then,” he intoned, waving his free hand. Dee wasted no time in towing her captives across town, just to get good ice cream.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry didn’t know how he felt about sitting under a tree in the park with Eggsy leaning on his shoulder, but he knew he was glad Dee had left to play with some street dogs. He didn’t want her hearing anything he said. She was far too dangerous.

“Where were you?” Eggsy asked, tilting his head back to look at Harry.

“Under house arrest,” he answered frankly, twirling his child-size cone of soft-serve vanilla ice cream. He did not like ice cream, but Eggsy did, and Dee adored it, so he hadn’t argued. “Arthur does not approve of our… ah… relationship.”

“That’s why you and Dee wanted to get out of there quick,” Eggsy surmised.

“Yes.”

“ _Why_ is he so fuckin’ angry?” Eggsy exploded angrily, throwing up his hands and nearly sticking his chocolate-stained thumb in Harry’s eye. “It doesn’t fuckin’ concern him! It’s not like we’re deliberately making out right in front of him constantly!”

“He has a few points,” Harry pointed out reluctantly. “Our ages—“

“Are you a pedo?” Eggsy interrupted sharply.

“No!” Harry snapped, horrified.

“There you go, then. An’ I ain’t a child anyway. So let’s not get hung up on that shit. If it’s about m’ dad—“ Here Eggsy choked off, but the moment Harry opened his mouth to assure him it wasn’t, not at all, Eggsy continued briskly, “Then _he’s_ an idiot f’r thinking of it, _you’re_ an idiot for letting it get to you, and I suppose it make _me_ an idiot for—“

This time, Harry was the one to interrupt him, wrapping his arm around Eggsy’s waist and pulling him close. “No,” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could without his voice trembling. “It was never about your father. Lee was my brother-in-arms, and it is my fault he’s gone. But he’s not why I love you.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Eggsy said, a bit unsteadily, “S-so we’re gonna call it love now?”

Harry’s face felt quite warm. “If you’d like to.”

Another pause. Then Eggsy pushed himself up to his knees, turned, and kissed Harry. “Yes,” he replied. “I would.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy could not honestly say that he wasn’t afraid of calling it love so soon; but he _could_ say, at least to himself, that it was pleasant to hear, and he liked knowing that that was what Galahad thought it was.

He also liked holding hands as they walked to the club through gathering darkness. Dee skipped along in front of them, singing quietly to herself. There were surprisingly few people, considering that it was quite lovely out that night; but that was all to the good. Galahad still tensed whenever anyone looked at the three of them for longer than half a second.

They had to let go of each other when they reached the club, though. Eggsy led the way down the alley and through the backdoor, and then Galahad kissed him one last time before slipping down the short hall to the club proper. Eggsy watched him go, feeling a bit disappointed, until Dee poked his spine sharply and he remembered to run upstairs.

He thought about the conversation under the tree while he dressed in his new suit.

While he didn’t doubt that Galahad meant well, he was still vaguely annoyed that he’d concede _anything_ in favor of that fat Dough Man. It was actually a little cruel, to pull out those doubts and then hurry to say they didn’t matter. Maybe it was still the anger that had come upon him in that shop making him resentful. Or maybe he was just sick of people trying to “be fair” and “look at the other side of the argument”. There was a right and a wrong here, and Arthur was in the wrong. Why couldn’t Galahad see that?

Eggsy looked at his rose plants. They were all several inches tall now, and putting out their first careful little leaves.

Maybe when Galahad went to buy him flowers, he’d ask for seeds and potting supplies instead of bouquets.

There was a slim vase of tulips on Eggsy’s bookshelf. He knew who they were from. His anger found a new focus, and, gratefully, he let it seize on Charlie’s continued stupidity.

It wasn’t very loud harassment. Unwanted flowers, unwelcome stares, unwarranted objectification; quiet things, that most people not on the receiving end of would shrug at and say “Just ignore it”. Charlie was not stalking him, or spreading rumors, or attempting blackmail, but if he didn’t leave off soon, Eggsy was going to go fucking _mental_.

Eggsy took out a pair of scissors and cut the tulip flowers off the stems. Then he cut each stem into tiny pieces, and threw them in the trash. The flower heads, he put on toothpicks and stuck around the edges of his rose-plant pots, like ungainly floral impalements. It gave him a small bit of satisfaction.

Then he had to run to make it downstairs in time.

He got many compliments on his new duds, which he supposed was alright; he also, when he hopped on stage, got a double-take from Galahad. _That_ felt good. It was easier to forget to be angry at him when he looked so appreciative.

Wait… did Galahad have a thing for uniforms? Ooh, that was definitely worth finding out. He’d never had the heart to throw out or give back his uniform from the Marines…

No, focus, Eggsy, focus. He had a job to do.

How could he do that job, though, with Charlie glaring at him from the corner? And then Charlie transferred his glare to Galahad. Dickhead. But Galahad could take care of himself. Surely he could make Charlie fuck off if he got too aggressive.

Eggsy put aside such thoughts and focused on the music. It was a love song currently—there seemed to be quite a number of them lately. But it was easy to put the proper amount of emotion into it; just remember Galahad’s hand in his, and the ice cream-flavored kisses, and the way streetlights made little halos on his hair, drawing out golden highlights. Remember his voice saying the word ‘love’—

Remember the words that had come before ‘love’.

Eggsy’s voice faltered, for a fraction of a second, barely long enough to be noticeable—but Dee noticed. He knew she did, because in the mass of dancers, a body in motion suddenly froze, and turned to look at him. That made his voice crack, knowing she’d heard.

Bethany was playing keyboard tonight. How was he hearing violins?

But the lump in his throat eased, and his heart stopped squeezing so painfully. He stopped thinking. He just sang. And it was wonderful.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was finishing off his third drink of the evening and wondering where Eggsy got such a well-fitted suit when a tall man stomped up beside his table and blurted, “Why do you keep looking at him like that?”

Harry looked up at the tall man, and frowned. He seemed vaguely familiar… quite young, dressed well, completely pissed. “Do I know you?” he inquired politely.

“I’m his boss,” the young man retorted, swaying a little where he stood and scowling ferociously. “Why do you keep looking at him like that?!”

Harry decided not to be difficult. Being difficult would do no one any favors. “Because I find him attractive and he has told me he likes when I look at him,” he answered frankly. That last bit wasn’t quite true—Eggsy hadn’t said anything aloud, but Harry got the distinct impression that some of those pelvic movements were for his benefit; as if he needed more reasons to hate propriety. Without good manners and basic social rules, he’d happily kidnap Eggsy from the stage and take him to a quiet corner where no one could see them.

“He doesn’t like it when _I_ look at him,” Eggsy’s boss muttered bitterly.

“Perhaps he finds you distasteful,” Harry suggested.

“But he should like _me_ ,” the other retorted, voice rising shakily. “ _I’m_ in charge of him! Not you!”

“I don’t see how “being in charge” makes you automatically the most desirable,” Harry snapped, his temper fraying quickly. “Aren’t there laws against workplace harassment?”

The youngster, who must be Charlie if he was “in charge”, began to flush with anger as well as alcohol, and people around them were starting to notice, and pay attention. Harry didn’t wish to embarrass Eggsy or hurt his pride, but if Charlie continued to behave like a child, there was going to be a reckoning.

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, closed it, made a horrible grimace, and shambled away.

Harry blinked.

Dee trotted up to his table, her eyes on Charlie as she sang something quietly under her breath. When Charlie stumbled through the door to the bathroom, Dee sighed and turned to look at Harry disapprovingly, crossing her arms tightly.

“You were gonna start a fight,” she stated flatly.

“No,” Harry corrected, “I was going to end one.”

Dee threw up her hands and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, exasperated. “ _Men_! You’re all so determined to show off! Look, we get that you could murder him without disturbing your cravat, you don’t need to posture like that! You’re lucky he didn’t _actually_ want to fight, or cops would be involved,” she warned, looking startlingly hard and aggressive. “Now get up and get your damn martini.”

Harry took a breath to snap back, but then she whistled four sharp notes, and he found himself on his feet and walking. After the first three compelled steps he was back in control of himself. What the fuck _was_ she? He didn’t want to know, not right then; so he hurried his step just a little, not so that it seemed unusual, just brisk. He gripped his umbrella very tightly and told himself he’d have time to interrogate her later. For now…

Eggsy had just slid behind the bar. Their eyes met for barely half a second, and Harry decided to worry about it later. For now, he had to explain before the rumors began.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy wasn’t sure why, but he was a little—no, _very_ —pissed off that Charlie had dared to speak harshly to his Galahad. He was also pissed that Dee had interrupted them before it came to blows. It would have been immensely satisfying to watch Galahad deck Charlie. But it also would have been embarrassing. Almost like Eggsy couldn’t defend himself. Which was extremely untrue.

So when Eggsy made up two martinis, one for him, one for Galahad, he accompanied it with a sharp, “If you get me sacked I’ll never speak to you again.”

Was that a flash of guilt? “I will try very hard not to get you fired,” Galahad promised dryly, accepting his drink.

The rest of the night was unremarkable, except for the fact that, the two times Eggsy took a break to ease his throat, he’d given in and sat at Galahad’s table. They did not sit next to each other; but they both had to lean forward to hear each other, which was a little better. And it meant that it became known in about an hour throughout the club that they really, truly did have an ‘understanding’.

Eggsy got tired of the uncertainty of those around them, the second time ‘round, and when he got up to return to the stage, he kissed Galahad’s cheek and escaped before the other could even begin to scold. There. That would convince even the most thickheaded idiots.

The last song of the night was one of his favorites, and he sang it from the bottom of his heart.

“I’ll stop the world and melt with you; I’ve seen some changes and it’s getting better all the time: there’s nothing you and I can’t do; I’ll stop the world and melt with you…!”

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy was yawning so wide her jaw creaked when there was a polite tap on her office door.

“Who is it?” she called, irritated. She was almost done for the night, damn it; who was here to ruin her careful plans?

The door opened, and a girl stepped halfway into the office. Roxy vaguely remembered her; the dark girl in bright yellow who was Eggsy’s friend, and who had driven Charlie away and given Galahad a right dressing-down. She looked troubled, which did not seem to fit her face.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” Roxy asked, reacting instinctively to that expression; it was very much like her own at times.

“You’re Roxanne, right?” the girl asked. When Roxy nodded, she continued, “I’m Dee, I’m Eggsy’s friend from school. Look, I’m really sorry to put more on your plate, I know it’s almost overflowing, but I don’t think Charlie should be around Eggsy anymore. His Music’s all wrong. I won’t be here much longer—just another day or two, just to tie up a few loose ends—and you’re the only one Charlie actually respects, that is, he’s terrified of you and the prospect of you quitting, so if you could convince him to stay away, that would be absolutely fantabulous. Here.”

Dee walked forward, holding out her hand. Roxy, surprised, extended her own. Dee grasped it firmly, then put her other hand around Roxy’s wrist, and began to whisper; no, she was singing, very softly. Roxy looked into her eyes, confused—and then she couldn’t look away.

She heard music, very far away.

Dee blinked. Roxy’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. Dee let go, and stepped back; Roxy slowly pulled her hand back and stared at her palm. A tiny symbol was… _burned_ into her skin. It looked like a flute.

“That will give you a boost when you need it,” Dee commented—it could hardly be called an explanation. “I’d love to stay and explain, but if I don’t hurry down there and remind them that other people exist, they’re going to suck each other’s faces off. I’m really, really, really sorry.” She leaned over the desk suddenly and kissed Roxy’s forehead, then bounded out of the office.

Roxy sat and stared at the door for about three full minutes, utterly poleaxed.


	9. The one where Eggsy begins his lessons

Eggsy was a little miffed that Galahad refused to sleep in his bed with him, but he was still happy that he was staying the night. They broke out the lilo, and while Galahad rolled his eyes when Eggsy moved it right against his own bed, the older man did not pull it away.

It was a little like the sleep-overs Eggsy had had with Jamal and Ryan, except there was no stolen alcohol or subpar weed, and when Eggsy finally fell asleep after what felt like hours just talking softly, it was with his arm hanging over the edge of the mattress so he could hold Galahad’s hand. It was not a sweet rom-com moment; more a confusing mixture of fear, anger, and joy. He couldn’t begin to work it out. So he held on to Galahad and slept.

When he woke up, he was half afraid Galahad would be gone; but with his eyes closed, he could still hear him breathing, and while his hand and arm felt funny from all the blood going down and not coming up again, he knew he was still holding Galahad’s. _That_ was dedication.

Most of his anger at Galahad, already tempered, faded into a mellow, affectionate annoyance.

When he gave Galahad’s hand a small squeeze, he felt the other come to instant, complete wakefulness. He grinned and rolled up onto his elbow. Galahad was, well, ‘sprawled’ seemed the only appropriate word for it, across the whole mattress, and looked very rumpled and annoyed at being woken.

“It is _not_ time to get up,” Galahad said sternly.

Eggsy slid off his bed and fell the three inches to land almost on top of Galahad, and squirmed until he was just lying beside him. “I agree,” he replied simply.

It was actually quite comfortable, even if it was a little too hot. Soon enough he was sweating, but he was also tired, and reluctant to move any more. But he had to piss, and he was thirsty. But he liked having Galahad’s arm around him. But he had to piss. But he was so tired…

“I need to pee,” he mumbled, half asleep again.

“Please do not piss yourself here,” Galahad retorted.

He groaned reluctantly, but sat up and crawled over Galahad to thump to the floor. Then he stood and wobbled to the bathroom, muttering to himself about uncooperative bladders and lack of air conditioning.

Once he had relieved himself, he felt much more awake. This was annoying. What was also annoying was walking out of the bathroom to find Galahad was up and knotting his tie. Why couldn’t they lie in bed together some more? Why’d they have to be up and _doing_ things?

Galahad’s hair was mussed up, and bits of it were starting to curl. Eggsy thought it was cute. Which was an alarming thought, since nothing else about Galahad was ‘cute’, but everyone should have a little bit of cute in them, shouldn’t they?

Eggsy came back to himself and realized he’d been standing and staring for several minutes now, and Galahad was looking both curious and a little nervous. Eggsy scowled reflexively, then, before Galahad could speak or move, stomped over and reached up to comb the curls back with his fingers.

“You look ridiculous,” he explained shortly. “An’ I don’t got any brushes.”

“A comb will be sufficient,” Galahad replied, but let Eggsy fuss until he had it reasonably tidy again. Then he kissed him on the forehead very lightly and asked, “Would you like to go out for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Mackey-D’s good enough?” Eggsy grinned as Galahad made a face. “Thought not. Well, where do _you_ eat breakfast?”

“At home,” Galahad said, still frowning. “Properly.”

“I dunno what proper is.”

Galahad sighed melodramatically. “Shall I have to culture you as well as feed your insatiable appetite for flowers?” he inquired, with an aggrieved expression.

Eggsy surprised himself with a laugh. “Yeah, probably. Y’know what? I’m game. Teach me how to be a gentleman.”

“Hmm.” Galahad tilted his head and gazed into the distance, pretending to think. Then he looked down again and said, very grave and earnest, “Alright, first lesson: brush your teeth in the morning.”

Eggsy punched his shoulder, and Galahad chuckled.

After brushing his teeth, Eggsy took a very short shower, skipped shaving—his whiskers were too short and pale to ever show, sadly—and felt very disappointed when he walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips and Galahad’s only reaction was to ask, “Do you have an iron?”

“Yeah, but I never use it,” Eggsy replied warily.

“Second lesson: how to properly iron your shirts.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Galahad smile, and that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It was a good thing he’d done his laundry the day before, and that he’d hung up his shirts properly; otherwise he’d have botched it all in moments and they wouldn’t have had anything else to work with. As it was, it took him three tries to get it right, and he only succeeded the fourth time because Galahad came around behind him and put his hand over Eggsy’s to show him the proper direction, movement, and pressure.

He really liked the sensation of Galahad’s chest pressed against his back.

He especially liked when Galahad kissed his bare shoulder and said, “Perfection. Now, let’s see how it looks.”

Lesson three was how to knot a tie properly, though they had to search for one that was sufficiently unstained. Galahad showed him four different knots; Eggsy accused him of stalling, and received a kiss that went straight to his head and made him a little giddy.

“Fourth lesson: don’t back-sass your elders.”

Only when Eggsy was properly attired did Galahad show him how to comb his hair neatly, and in such a way that it didn’t immediately spring out of place. Then they went on a journey to find a proper brunch.

Once they were out on the street, Eggsy felt his enthusiasm flatten a bit; he wasn’t used to being… well, nicely turned out, he supposed. It felt strange. _He_ felt strange.

But when he compared himself and Galahad to the other well-dressed men striding past, he couldn’t help but wonder how all these people could stand getting up in the morning and trying so hard when they were so obviously inferior.

He’d give the Kingsman tailors this; they knew how to make a bloke look good.

Galahad looked around thoughtfully, then set off to the right, umbrella tapping the pavement in time with his steps. Eggsy had to stretch his legs to keep up. But that was good. It kept him from slumping or hunching his shoulders. Either of those actions would have been very ungentlemanly, and kisses to soften sharp orders weren’t exactly welcome out in public. He’d committed himself to this venture; he’d have to stick it out to the end.

They paused outside many places, but after a second of careful observation, Galahad dismissed them all, walking on before anyone noticed they had hesitated. Eggsy started scowling, the warmth of that morning gone, as he thought evil thoughts and longed to be lying in bed at home again.

Finally, Galahad chose a restaurant, and strode in like he owned it. Eggsy tried to imitate him, but he couldn’t, because he was too busy pretending he wasn’t staring. This place was just high-end enough that they didn’t look out of place, but just casual enough that there was no pressure to be on his best behavior. The food-smells were _divine_. And, as he noticed how many tables and booths held couples of the same gender, he realized how many factors Galahad must have been weighing.

“Um…” Eggsy said.

“Follow my lead,” Galahad murmured. “And try not to stare.”

Eggsy scowled again, and the corner of Galahad’s mouth quirked upwards. “Much better,” he told Eggsy with mock satisfaction.

He didn’t really remember the meal, because Galahad kept him busy with questions and short lectures, all in a properly subdued murmur; he had a vague idea that there had been meat, and fruit, and it had all been quite good, and the server had been cheerful and nice. He knew that no one had thought them strange. Perhaps it was simply an interview of some kind, or an older relation attempting to refine a younger. That was comforting.

When they finished and the bill had been settled, Galahad asked, “What would you like to do now?”

Eggsy thought for a moment. Then he grinned. “You haven’t met my baby sister yet,” he commented.

Galahad’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No, I have not,” he agreed cautiously.

“Or mum.”

“Eggsy…”

“I think she has today off. I’ll call her and ask.”

“Eggsy, I don’t think—“ Seeing the determined impishness on Eggsy’s face, Galahad sighed and yielded gracefully. “Alright. Are there any rules I must mind?”

“Just don’t be mean to Dais.”

They decided—well, Eggsy decided—to go to the park Dee had chosen the previous evening. It was closer to mum, and it was innocuous enough. Eggsy called her as soon as they found a little niche out of the general flow of traffic, and while Galahad stood with his feet braced and hands on the handle of his umbrella, watching the world with misleading calm, Eggsy negotiated with mum to convince her to come meet them. The deal-breaker was when he let slip, “You did say you wanted to meet ‘im, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” A sign fizzled through his phone’s speaker. “Alright, fine. We didn’t go out yesterday, ‘cause—well, there wasn’t time. Give me five.”

“Alright. Love you, mum.”

“Love you too, babe.”

Eggsy put his phone back in his pocket, frowning thoughtfully. It wasn’t like mum to falter like that. Something was wrong. Whatever it was, he’d have to be very careful about extracting it. Mum wasn’t a good liar, but she _was_ very good at sidestepping questions.

“Something wrong?” Galahad asked, as they resumed their stroll.

“Maybe,” Eggsy answered, still turned within.

Galahad just nodded, and did not pry any further.

They walked slowly. Meandered, almost. That was alright, since Eggsy’s stomach was beginning to hurt, it was so full. They were close to the park; there was no rush.

But though his feet were slow, his mind was racing.

Mum obviously had something weighing on her. Would it be best to try and be a distraction, or be very passive and not heap more stress on her? How would she react to Galahad? Would she even be comfortable letting Daisy say hello to him? Or would she be too worried about other things? _What_ was she worried about? What had she been about to say? Could Eggsy get her to say in front of a stranger? No, probably not—which meant Galahad would have to leave them, and Eggsy would have to cleave through a tide of questions and stern talking-tos to ask her what was going on. And even then she might not tell him. This was going to be immensely frustrating.

Eggsy decided it would be best to stick to light conversation for a bit, and then Galahad should invent some errand and leave Eggsy and mum and Daisy to discuss whatever was wrong. This made him sad and a little annoyed, but it was just the first meeting. It would be rude (even ungentlemanly) to expect her to speak candidly in front of a man she knew very little of, and whom it was very probable she still felt aversion towards.

“What are you plotting that’s making you frown so abominably?” Galahad asked softly, as they waited for the traffic lights to change.

“Thinkin’,” Eggsy replied shortly, rubbing his forehead absently. He was starting to get a bit of a headache. “Mum will have some things to say about you, but—I need to talk her privately, and…”

“I’ll go taunt Arthur when she’s finished with me,” Galahad decided. He glanced up at the clouds that had been gathering since they’d left Eggsy’s flat, and opened his umbrella, swinging it up to hold it above them both just as the first patters of rain began.

Eggsy made a face. Please let it be a short rain, or at least soft; he didn’t want to have to quit the park and trying to find shelter where they would all be comfortable. And he didn’t want Galahad going anywhere near that snake, Arthur. But he couldn’t quite find the words to voice this worry, and so he simply scowled.

The light turned. They walked on, neatly stepping over the puddles that had already begun to gather.

Eggsy tried not to fret, but when they arrived at the agreed spot and he saw no sign of mum, he began to feel a bit jittery. She should have been here first. He and Galahad had walked slowly enough, she should be here.

“Perhaps she was delayed,” Galahad suggested gently.

Eggsy made a noise like a grunt and continued scanning the park.

Where was she?

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy laid down on her bed on her stomach, buried her face in her pillow, and _screamed_.

This was not her usual method of emotional release—she much preferred kickboxing and beating up men five times her size—but the gym was closed, her sparring partners were unavailable, and Charlie had been acting like a complete cock. But she could not unleash her wrath upon him, and that infuriated her even more.

Even with Dee’s warning, Roxy had been alarmed when Charlie barged into her office and started raving, half the time raging at Eggsy and “that antique three-piece son of a _bitch_ ”, the other half nearly weeping because “I don’t know what to do, I just want him to love me, I can’t even tell father, what do I do?!” Roxy had first tried speaking sternly, then lost her temper and shouted him down until he was sitting on the floor sniveling and muttering curses.

Roxy had known what this was; Charlie had a weakness, and that weakness was experimentation. He’d probably taken some kind of drug or another, which had reacted badly with his alcoholic drinks and turned him into this sobbing, hateful mess, and now she had to clean him up. Again.

Which was why she couldn’t bring herself to punch him, and so had just called his valet and asked he come by to pick Charlie up.

Roxy turned over on her back, arms wrapped tightly around her pillow, and stared at the ceiling, trying to find any silver lining in this particular thunderstorm. It was seven in the morning. She knew Galahad—Harry—no, Galahad still sounded better. She knew Galahad was staying with Eggsy for the day, and that was good. She knew Charlie was definitely not getting out of his own bed for a day or so, and that was good too. But she still could not stop worrying. It was an endless loop of concerns and fears and irritants, that she was far too tired to control.

One of the thoughts that both frightened and angered her was that she was beginning to worry more about Eggsy than about her other employees, or herself. Yes, Charlie was dangerous, but the danger was constrained to a handful of targets. Yes, it was nerve-racking, trying to handle other people’s turmoil and stress while simultaneously acting as if she were not also on the edge of going mad, but wasn’t that the lot of all managers? And then there was that letter from the desk of the Valentine Corporation…

Eventually, her emotions numbed, and her mind went blank, and she slept.

She dreamed of flutes.

~~~\0/~~~

Eyes closed, feeling the water sift softly through her hair, Dee lay in the pool and listened.

She had chosen to stay in one of the manors-for-rent in the countryside, because it had tower rooms, wood floors, no neighbors, and an indoor pool because the original owner had been fond of morning exercise. Water was a deafener, a barrier between her ears and soundwaves, but it carried vibrations well. She listened to those vibrations.

There was strife, as always, all around her, a deep, muffled, mourning sound like cathedral bells swallowed by the sea. There was momentary happiness, and long-lasting joy, and soft contentment; but none of them were as overwhelming as the bells. Dee hated this Time, she really, really did. There was hardly any harmony, anywhere, and what harmony there was was often yanked away, ruined, changed, by people who didn’t understand it.

How was Eggsy getting on, she asked herself, and in moments all other sounds were silenced as the Music tore across Britain eagerly towards London. She heard him, his anxiety, his troubled heart; and that beautiful harmony, singing in response to that of the heart so near his own. Oh, Love, how sweet and precious and tuneful you are, to take two unhappy hearts and create such a resonance between them.

Even as Dee smiled to hear them, she caught the faint whisper of a third and fourth melody coming towards them. One was the joyous tunelessness of childhood, a small one stained but not corrupted, which made her laugh delightedly. The song of children is so beautifully mangled, and they don’t care. The other melody was so like Eggsy’s, it had to be his mother. She was full of sea-bells too; sadness, hollowness, mourning. But there was also a bit of hope, a tiny electric-blue tune, whispering in her bell-heart; and love, that pink-gold flush of soft notes, still flourished within her. Dee wished she could meet her.

But as she listened, floating on her back in the pool hundreds of miles away, Dee decided it was best she was not there. There was too much unhappiness, too much anger; she might break her promise and try to “fix” them, and that would never do. So she floated, and wished, and worried.

~~~\0/~~~

When Harry departed the scene, it was with a heavy heart and troubled mind.

Michelle had been… quiet. She’d looked at Harry, recognized him, then sighed heavily, before unleashing the squealing toddler in the buggy, who was reaching for Eggsy with the biggest, happiest smile Harry had ever seen. Eggsy had grinned back, just as delighted, and scooped up the child for a hug.

“Hello, Dais,” Eggsy had said. “How have you been?”

“Good!” Daisy had exclaimed, and then laughed and patted his face with her tiny hands.

Greetings had been a little stilted, but Daisy had looked at Harry, seemed thoughtful, and then reached for his glasses. Harry took them off and handed them over. Daisy had twisted them, testing their function, and stuck out her arms again, making grabby-hands. Harry had looked from Eggsy to Michelle, confused; and then Eggsy stepped closer and transferred the baby to Harry’s arms. She’d promptly jammed Harry’s glasses back on his face, upside down, and cooed triumphantly.

Harry was not particularly paternal. Children annoyed him, especially the ones who couldn’t talk properly. He didn’t know what to do with the toddler seated awkwardly in the crook of his arm. He didn’t need to, because Daisy knew what to do with confused adults; she’d simply patted his face, tugged a fistful of hair, and then turned to her mother and made a sound that Harry supposed could mean she approved of the stranger.

Michelle had smiled, a little wanly, and said, “I know when I’m outnumbered. You be good to my baby, or I’ll set my husband on you.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Eggsy had exclaimed, horrified.

“I will do my utmost to be good to him,” Harry had promised dryly; but also seriously. He would be good to Eggsy, even if Eggsy wasn’t good to him.

Daisy had laughed and stolen Harry’s glasses again.

And now Harry was striding down the street, torn between worrying about the little family that seemed to cling to each other so tightly, and what he should say to Arthur. Taunting was right out, as was gloating; but he refused to grovel and apologize, which would have pleased Arthur greatly and probably made him feel virtuous and generous enough to “allow” Harry to get back to work and take off all the surveillance. He was itching for a new mission, preferably a very long and complicated one, and even more preferably, somewhere in or near London. Surveillance of his own, perhaps. It’d also been a while since he’d been drafted as a bodyguard…

No taunting, no groveling, no telling Arthur to fuck himself. Well, what would he say, then? ‘I would like a job sir, please, sir, here, sir, three bags full, sir’? No. He should be firm and matter-of-fact. He was free, and he was going to _stay_ free.

Harry did not take a deep breath or attempt to prepare himself before he entered the shop. Such exercises were useless. He nodded hello to William, climbed the stairs briskly, and opened the doors to the dining room smoothly and at a casual speed.

Arthur was plopped at the head of the table, as usual. That morning, lying in the murky darkness of Eggsy’s flat, Eggsy had told Harry frankly that Arthur was a Dough-Man and that was that. Eyeing Arthur carefully, Harry couldn’t _not_ see him as a lump of raw dough. “Arthur,” he said in acknowledgement. No ‘good afternoon’s today.

“Galahad,” Arthur greeted him, with a solemn nod. So he was not surprised that Harry had escaped. Who’d grassed? It didn’t matter at that moment.

“Did you receive my reports?” Harry inquired smoothly, bracing his feet and resting his hands on the hilt of his umbrella.

“Yes, I did. What do you want?”

Harry suppressed a nasty smile. “Why, I’m here for my next assignment.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy’s hands were shaking.

Mum was wearing a lot more makeup than usual. Her eye looked a bit puffy under streaky foundation, as did the corner of her mouth. Eggsy knew what such features meant. Hadn’t he himself sported such injuries when Dean got drunk and angry?

But Eggsy couldn’t _do_ anything. Oh, he could report to the police on mum’s behalf, but he knew her. She was loyal, and afraid. She’d deny it. And Dean would of course swear he’d never laid a finger on anyone. And, while Eggsy was now stronger, faster, and rudimentarily trained, he still wasn’t a brawler like Dean. He could do damage, but it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough.

Eggsy’s heartbeat drummed in his ears and throat, as blood-red rage shook him and filled his throat with the taste of metal and bile.

Daisy’s laughter was the only thing keeping him from hunting down Dean then and there. Daisy’s laughter and mum’s odd acceptance of Galahad.

“I thought you’d… um… ‘cause dad…” Eggsy commented clumsily, as he lifted Daisy and set her on his shoulders, holding her teeny hands. She babbled something and kicked, laughing at this delightful new game. Mum smiled with one side of her mouth, a bitter but affectionate smile.

“It’s been so long,” she said softly. “It still hurts. But hating him when I barely know him, for something that long ago, is silly. I’ll wait a bit before I get mean. Besides, it’s good to see you smiling.”

The rage backed down, like a guilty guard dog, making way for embarrassment and relief. “So you don’t mind?”

“It’s your life, babe.” Mum reached up and pinched his cheek gently, smile widening as he made a face. “Do what makes you happy. He’s not invited to any family gatherings for another year, though.”

“I know, I already warned him.”

They spoke of commonplaces as they walked slowly through the park, Daisy still seated on Eggsy’s shoulders. Mum finally revealed her new work: she was doing data entry for the London branch of Valentine Inc., and while it was a lovely building, with lovely people and a lovely campus, the best part was the on-site child care, where she could drop off Daisy when she went in and pick her up when it was time to leave; and mum often went over on her lunch breaks to say hello. She knew all the staff there by name, and they knew her, and the children were always laughing and playing and being rambunctious. It was a good place.

“I even met Mr. Valentine himself,” mum added, amused. “He’s a charmer. Apparently he comes around once every two months to meet the new employees. I think you would approve of his dress sense.”

Eggsy felt himself grin. Mum was relaxed and happy, talking about her new job. If she could have a little bit of happiness, he would do anything to help her keep it.

He was not going to forget the black eye and the split lip, though. Never.

It was time to go home. Eggsy hugged and kissed mum and Daisy, promised to come by in a few days, and set out for the corner where he was going to meet with Galahad.

“Oi, is that Eggsy?! Eggsy! Eggsy, wait up!”

He turned, surprised, to see Ryan and Jamal running down the pavement towards him. He barely had time to say “How—“ before they crashed into him, clapping him on the back and shoulders, talking over each other in their haste to explain. It took a moment, but he eventually picked out that they’d been around to the club about a week ago to ask if he was in, and been told by David that no, actually, he and the band were out for a few days at some party. And then they’d read about the attempted murder, and had been afraid he’d been caught up in it—he told them how he had only been involved in keeping one of the chosen victims safe, and while Jamal berated him for getting involved at all, Ryan scolded him about not immediately telling them all about it.

Somehow, he found himself on the way to the Black Prince, sandwiched between his two old friends. They extracted much from him, but he clung to his secrets grimly and rebuffed all attempts to wheedle out the reason for his fancy duds. Eventually Ryan pronounced that they must be for impressing somebody, and Eggsy felt his ears and neck go red as he protested that he’d just felt like dressing up.

His so-called friends roared with laughter and demanded details of who he’d gotten all dressed up for. He stuck to his guns, though, and insisted it was just a whim.

They knew him too well, though. When their trio entered the Black Prince and asked for three drinks, Jamal snuck in a sly, “I didn’t know you could iron shirts.”

“I can’t, I had help—“ Eggsy shut his mouth with a snap, but Ryan whooped and Jamal grinned.

They were being too loud. Eggsy hid his distress with a scowl, and hissed quietly, “Look, if I tell you, you gotta swear you won’t tell a soul. _Not a one_ , got it?”

Jamal and Ryan nodded, eyes gleaming.

Eggsy took a deep breath, and told them in a murmur, “So I, um, I’ve got friends at the club, and one of ‘em, he’s, um, well he couldn’t go home last night, he wouldn’t tell me why, so he stayed over—stop laughing!” he snapped, as Ryan stifled snickers with his arm and Jamal snorted. “It ain’t fuckin’ funny! Anyway, he stayed over, and he’s real snobby, right, good enough but still a snob, so he tried to get me to dress nice for once, an’ I told him to fuck off, but he’s stubborn as a pig, so now all my good shirts are ironed and he’s took all my ties and said I need to get better ones. Look, I didn’t fuckin’ _ask_ for it!”

His friends were good enough to keep their voices down, but they still taunted him, implying many things that were much too close to the truth. That was one of the best things about Jamal and Ryan; they just did not care about anyone’s sexuality except their own. So what if Eggsy had male “friends” as well as female? He still scowled the same when they teased him about it. And they did, until, even without saying anything, his silences led them to the conclusion that he’d been out and about with his “friend”, and that “friend” was part of the reason he hadn’t been answering anyone’s calls or texts.

Sadly, that _was_ the reason, so Eggsy grumbled an apology, and then launched into the tale of the house party gone wrong. This, he didn’t need to keep his voice down for, and soon ears and sometimes eyes were pointed his way as he spoke, with Ryan and Jamal interjecting at points for clarification. Nobody gave Eggsy hurt looks when he spoke scornfully about the excesses of the rich, and no one jumped to anyone’s defense, and quite a few people laughed when he described the Fight, in which he pummeled a prominent man’s cousin until his face was barely recognizable and he’d had to be sent to the hospital.

He missed this, he discovered, his heart giving a sudden aching thud. He missed insulting and poking fun at the oppressors with his fellow “commoners”. He was faithful to the band, though, and all his tales of Roxy and Merlin were admiring, gleeful ones.

It was… fun.

Jamal and Ryan had stories and news, too. Eggsy listened with greater patience and enjoyment than he’d ever listened to anyone from the club. This was actually _important_. It was mostly personal, but they had news of Dean’s Dogs, too, and the local authorities, and recent political doings. Eggsy already got the political news from Wallas, who happened to be the son of a member of the House of Lords and made politics his life outside the club; but Wallas was clinical, fair, unbiased. Ryan’s rants were more fun.

Eggsy looked at his watch (a present from Samantha, who had a much more realistic understanding of what presents plebs would most appreciate than her peers) and muttered a new curse that made Ryan laugh. “If I don’t get back soon Roxy’ll gut me. Same time next week?”

“If you’re paying, definitely,” Jamal answered, grinning as Eggsy punched his shoulder.

The evening was lovely. For once, the clouds were streaky and thin, and Eggsy could see the infinite deep blueness of the sky. Instead of being frightened, he grinned. He feared nothing at that moment. He was alive, he was real; he had friends, a pint of good ale in his stomach, laughter ringing in his ears, the lightness of finally speaking his whole mind. What was there to be afraid of?

“Between two lungs, it was released; the breath that carried me; the sigh that blew me forward…” he sang quietly to himself. Then he grinned widely, jammed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered down the street.

There was nothing to fear. There was nothing he could not overcome. He would succeed. He _would_.

He laughed, at nothing, at everything, at the world and all its wonders and horrors. Tomorrow he would work on finding a teacher to teach him to fight, so he could mete out justice for his mother; but tonight, tonight, tonight was beautiful.

Tonight, he would conquer the world.

~~~\0/~~~

Dee stood in the corner of the club, watching everything.

Eggsy sang with a passion and euphoria that transformed his voice from “good” to “powerful”. His expression was fiercely joyous, triumphant, strong.

The band was the perfect counterpart. A ferocious excitement filled every note, every face, lighting them all from within; they put their spirits into their performance.

The dancefloor was full, rapturous with the music and poetry of movement. Every person fit, every limb perfectly placed; they did not know they were a living thing of passion and celebration.

Those not dancing or listening or singing along laughed and chattered, each forgetting their sorrows, their pains, their fears, in the sweet wash of joy, of wholeness, of Music.

One man sat alone, and yet there was no loneliness to him. His heart’s Music beat in perfect time with another’s, and though he did not smile, there was an unexpected gentleness and wondering happiness to his expression, as he gazed to the stage.

Dee threw back her head and laughed, a wildly joyful cascade of sound.

Tonight, tonight, tonight is beautiful. The Music pulsed around her, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick aside here to say thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who has read this far and has encouraged this hot mess of a fic. Y'all are fantastic and I love you. Things are only gonna get weirder from here on out, but I hope not to disappoint. Hugs all around, and again, thank you!


	10. The one with V&G

Galahad stayed over again. He sat on Eggsy’s bed and read to him from a book of French poetry, first in French, then English. Eggsy hadn’t asked him to, but he thoroughly enjoyed the company. He sat next to Galahad and leaned on him, one leg folded under him, eyes half-closed, practicing different tie-knots.

Dee had followed them, being Dee, and was lying on her back on the lilo, listening to Galahad with her eyes closed, sometimes joining in with him when she recognized the poem. Galahad didn’t seem to mind. Eggsy certainly didn’t.

When Galahad finished the book, Dee sang a few songs—her voice was like an angel’s, as usual. Galahad sang along, very softly; Eggsy grinned, and hummed the tune, since he couldn’t pronounce the words. Maybe he _should_ have taken that class back in school.

But Dee eventually left, just before her welcome wore out, kissing both men on the forehead before letting herself out.

Galahad still refused to sleep in Eggsy’s bed. But he held Eggsy’s hand while they slept.

The next morning went similarly to the previous one, with the difference being Galahad used Eggsy’s shower, and revealed that he had brought a small case with him that held exactly one clean outfit. Eggsy convinced him to leave his dirty things in Eggsy’s hamper; and when Galahad’s back was turned, Eggsy plopped his own clothes on top, completely hiding the new things. It was silly, but Eggsy was feeling silly anyway, so there. And if Galahad “lost” his things here, he’d have to come back. Right?

“You’re a goose,” Galahad commented, but kissed his cheek and didn’t uncover the clothes.

It was too late for brunch, so they went for dinner. Galahad continued Eggsy’s “How To Be A Gentleman” lessons there, though he often got sidetracked and ended up telling Eggsy about all the strange places he’d been and ridiculous things he’d done. Eggsy was in stitches over a story set in India concerning a missing temple statue, at least four thieves who hadn’t expected so much competition, a whole village in mutiny, a flock of chickens, a very protective elephant, and an especially foul-tempered goat. Eggsy got the feeling it hadn’t been nearly as funny at the time, but looking back, it was utterly absurd. And at least Galahad hadn’t been bitten by the goat.

After dinner, they went for a walk. They didn’t really _intend_ to go anywhere, but somehow they ended up in a very posh men’s clothing store— _not_ on the same block as Kingsman—and Galahad bought Eggsy five new ties and three pairs of cufflinks. Eggsy felt a little faint and alarmed when he heard the price, but Galahad didn’t even blink, just said, very casually, “If you would put it on Chester King’s account that would be wonderful.”

The clerk smirked and nodded. Eggsy got the feeling the clerk knew exactly who Chester King was, and that Galahad wasn’t him. He also got the feeling that Mr. King was not very well-liked.

They were very nice ties.

Of course, after that, Galahad seemed to get the Shopping Bug, because he led the way to a shoe store and picked out three pairs for Eggsy, again, putting it on Chester King’s account. Then a couple hats, very nice, but not at all what Eggsy was used to wearing, that Galahad purchased with his own money. Then they went to a bookstore; and here, Eggsy felt a leap of excitement. He had never been a big reader, but he’d discovered lately that he liked it well enough. So Galahad bought him books, five of them, glossy and new and smelling of paper-particles and glue. Three were reprints of medieval “natural histories” that made Eggsy laugh, one was a book on how to play guitar, and the fifth was a biography on Audrey Hepburn.

Then they went back to Eggsy’s flat and put everything away, and Galahad relented and taught him a few basic hits and blocks, preparation for Eggsy’s revenge. They both had to take off their shirts because it was so hot—and also Eggsy was curious what Galahad looked like.

He wasn’t covered in scars, but there were a few little round ones (bullets?), and some short lines (stabbings?), and there were patterns burned into the skin of his back. None of them seemed to give him any trouble. And he actually had quite nice muscles. He certainly knew how to use them in a combat setting.

When it was time to stop, Galahad hesitated, then took Eggsy’s hands in his own and pulled him over to sit on the edge of the bed, facing each other. Eggsy was alright with that. His legs were tired. He grinned at Galahad, still trying to catch his breath. “Are you gonna be all sentimental now?” he asked.

Galahad just looked at him. Then he sighed and looked down for a moment, before raising his head again and saying clearly, “I have a new assignment. And Arthur wants you to be part of it.”

Perhaps Galahad was expecting him to balk. Eggsy just grinned wider. “Fine by me. You need someone to look out for you,” he replied, squeezing his hands gently. “Is it out of London?”

“Yes and no. It will start in London; but then it will move to… a different location. I’m not allowed to disclose it.”

“Not even a hint?”

“No, you goose.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes and Galahad smiled thinly. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he assured quietly.

“I want to,” Eggsy insisted, play-scowling. “Didn’t I just say you need looking out for?”

“You did.” Galahad raised Eggsy’s right hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

Eggsy retorted by leaning over and kissing Galahad on the mouth. “You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get downstairs and be early for once.”

~~~\0/~~~

Harry wasn’t sure Eggsy understood the gravity of the situation, but he wasn’t about to try and puncture this magical mood. Let him be happy for a while.

Roxy intercepted them as they stepped out of the lift. She looked from one to the other, sighed, and said wearily, “Alright, _fine_. But if you’re still here after a month you’re both going to have to move to wherever _you_ live. Now, Eggsy, we’ve got a very important guest coming tonight, which means you need to be on your best behavior, which means no drinking—“

“—No dancing, no flirting, and no insulting conversations,” Eggsy finished. “Got it.”

“Good.” Roxy paused, and frowned at Eggsy for a moment, looking a little worried. Then her face smoothed and she continued briskly, “And you won’t need to worry about Charlie, because I have been informed he shall be going on holiday with his family for a week at least. That’s all. Dismissed.”

Eggsy saluted smartly, pressed Harry’s hand, and bounced off to the stage, where his bandmates were just getting set up. Harry watched him for a moment, then turned back to Roxy, who was frowning up at him.

“Orders, ma’am?” he inquired gravely.

“Try not to pine,” she replied tartly. “And—please watch. Just… watch. I’m not exactly confident about this visit. You might catch something we’ll miss.”

Harry noted the ‘we’, but did not ask for an explanation. He just saluted as well, and when she nodded, went to his usual table.

It was quiet this early, as the last of the day crowd drifted out and the first of the night crowd wandered in. Harry noted each face, but they were all regulars, and utterly unremarkable.

He started thinking about his new assignment.

Arthur had ordered him to set up and maintain surveillance on a certain person. The files were safely locked up at home; Harry refused to set foot in that house for longer than ten minutes until every bug in and around it was disabled. He’d usually use one of the family safehouses—no Arthur in the history of Kingsman had ever succeeded in getting all agents to agree to the bugging of family homes—but between the choices of ousting a cousin or two for a week and remaining with Eggsy, he could convince himself the latter was better. For one, there were no disgruntled cousins complaining to Harry’s parents. Also, now that Eggsy had agreed to be part of this, he was in danger. So it was only sensible for Harry to hang around.

He was fairly sure it would not take a month. And then—perhaps—

Harry cut that hopeful thought off firmly and stood to get a drink from the bar—and then his target walked in.

Richmond Valentine, and the woman known as Gazelle.

Harry turned his head away and ambled towards the bar, knowing they had not seen him, but still being carefully to keep his face turned away. He knew Gazelle, everyone did; she was a bodyguard’s bane, one of the best assassins the underworld had ever seen. But she’d dropped out of the game a few years ago—to take a permanent position as Valentine’s personal guard, it seemed. How very, very interesting. Well, it’d be hard to get anything past her.

Not that he’d have to. Harry glanced over his shoulder, marking where Valentine sat, half-sprawled and looking around with keen interest. Gazelle folded herself gracefully down beside him, hooking her linked hands around her knee. No, Harry would not have to interact with either of them; just watch. Watch, and wait.

And, he discovered with no little glee, he could hear them; for they’d chosen the table Tristan had bugged oh so long ago.

Harry took his drink back to the table, sipping thoughtfully. He let his gaze pass over Valentine, utterly casual, and let it rest on Eggsy. He was in a huddle with the band, with Merlin presiding; as Harry watched, they broke up, and mounted the stage. Eggsy stepped up to the microphone, adjusted its angle, looked around, saw Harry watching—and ducked his head, his cheeks tinting just a little bit with a particularly fetching shade of pink.

Harry hid his confusion and sat down. What was wrong? It wasn’t something he’d done, was it?

He had to pay attention to Valentine, and Gazelle. But he kept one eye on the stage, and part of his mind on Eggsy.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy finished fussing with his mic, and made himself glance at Galahad again. This time, he did not blush.

When Merlin had called for a huddle, Eggsy’d thought it was just another technical thing; but no, Merlin had looked right at Eggsy and said flatly, “No more slumber parties, Unwin. That is an order.”

“But—“ Eggsy’d cut himself off and glared. The others had sneaked sly glances at him, Owen and Adio slightly sympathetic, everyone else delighting in his humiliation. Eggsy had spread his glare to include all of them, until Erin piped up, oh so innocently, “So have you been to his house yet, Egg Man?”

“None of your fucking business,” he’d answered tartly.

“That’s a ‘no’, then.”

Eggsy would have smacked her, but Merlin had quickly cut in with the usual speech; no jumping, no yanking, no damaging his precious equipment. Have a care for the speakers, he’d only just finished rewiring them. Tonight was a free night, and they were to _remember the rules_ this time. Merlin’s threatening stare had made all of them stare at their toes. The last free night three months ago had become a disaster when Aaron insisted on taking requests. So, with no set list, they’d just play whatever the hell popped into their heads; they settled on a pattern of who would choose what, and then hopped up on stage.

And Eggsy couldn’t look at Galahad without thinking about how the other had never even offered his address. It was possible it was just because of Galahad’s work; Eggsy didn’t doubt that he had enemies, most probably dangerous ones, that wouldn’t hesitate to strike at anyone Galahad was even vaguely fond of. But it felt strange, like a barrier. Eggsy had offered to share his bed; Galahad hadn’t even told him which neighborhood he lived in.

Bah. Whatever. He should stop thinking of it. He cleared his throat a little, shook out his hands, glanced around the club—and his eyes stuck on two faces he’d never actually seen in real life.

Was that… was that seriously _Richmond Valentine_? And beside him, that lady, the one that made Eggsy so wary, his bodyguard? Holy shit, holy _shit_ , no wonder Roxy and Merlin were jumpy. Valentine was the biggest name in the industry, bigger than that guy who ran Apple. And he was looking right at Eggsy.

Eggsy didn’t know what to do, so he just nodded to him, a bit stiffly, and glanced at Erin, standing just beside him, waiting for her signal. It was her turn to choose, as youngest. She didn’t keep anyone waiting long; she launched right into a song by Marina and the Diamonds, grinning as Eggsy glared at her. He was not good with Marina’s songs. He could hit most of the notes, and he knew all the words (how could he not when Erin played all of her albums constantly), but some bits were hard to manage.

But he would manage it. He had to.

He did a passable job. It was Aaron’s turn next, and he chose a rap song that Eggsy barely knew at all. Eggsy began to harbor malicious doubts that they were actively trying to make him look bad.

Or maybe he was getting too soft, too comfortable. He couldn’t think of that now. He had to focus on remembering the lyrics and cadences. Rap is _hard_ when you’re unused to it. He didn’t stumble even once, though he did have to change a few words to match his breath and the notes he knew. Also there was swearing he had to change on the fly. He _thought_ he did alright.

Galahad didn’t watch him. Galahad watched Valentine and his bodyguard. This hurt, and made Eggsy grumpy. He shouldn’t have been; it was absolutely possible that Valentine was Galahad’s next target. But Eggsy still felt like he’d dressed so carefully for nothing.

He faked passion and good humor, like he had so many times before. He missed the glory of last night; the way happiness had poured out of him like a fountain. But nights like that were few anyway. He was lucky to have had so many just this month.

Time flew, and yet it crawled. It was hard to keep track. Then Erin began to play a familiar chord, and Eggsy’s heart lurched a little. He felt everyone behind him grow still and quiet. Eggsy did not have to fake anything for this.

“I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment’s gone; all my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity. Dust in the wind; all we are is dust in the wind…”

Sure, it was a little cheesy. But when Bethany’s violin and Owen’s hastily-fetched viola dominated the air, and Aaron and Erin’s guitars meshed so neatly, and Sadie and Mari sang backup, it really could be felt. Or, Eggsy hoped it was felt.

Of course it was. Because Dee was in the middle of the dancefloor, and the crowd had stopped and moved apart, so she stood in perfect isolation, a second focal point. Stood? No, she did not stand; she was never still, every slow, graceful movement fitting the music perfectly. She turned on her toes, leapt, bowed and bent, following a wind no one else could feel, a shivering construct of dust and ash contained only by silk and thread. As the band wound down, her movements changed, from large swoops and fierce winds to the swirl of tiny breezes through fallen leaves. She slid from dangerous melancholy to simple, soft sadness. And when the music stopped, she did too, sinking to one knee and bracing her forehead on the raised knee, arms and hands and fingers poised just so, to enfold, to invite, to show the hollowness where the wind had blown away her dusty insides.

A moment of deep silence.

Dee herself broke the silence, standing quickly, turning on her heel, and trotting over to tug Eggsy’s trouser leg. He knelt, and when he took her hand, she smiled as brightly and sadly as she had danced.

“It’s only a small gift,” she said, her voice echoing strangely. “A small serenity, as Robin McKinley once said. You’ll need it.” She craned forward and kissed his cheek; the spot burned, then tingled, then felt no different than any other bit of him. “I give you Music,” she whispered, for his ears only. “The memory, the Talent, the joy. I give you the Music.”

Then she turned and skipped lightly through the club and out the door.

Eggsy raised his hand and touched the spot where Dee had kissed him. It felt no different to his fingers.

Shakily, the party got back on its feet. The band did not play anything sad or angry again. Maybe because there was no way they could top that last one. And Eggsy couldn’t help noticing Valentine and his bodyguard with their heads together, talking quietly, and glancing often at the stage.

It was his imagination, surely; it was his imagination that he sang better that night than he ever had. It was only that he was a little off-balance, that he thought he was doing so well.

But he never got a note wrong, his breath lasted long enough every time, and the words were always there, ready to be released.

As the night was ending, and they were packing up, and Eggsy was sitting on the edge of the stage with his head in his hands—why did he feel so tired?—he realized that there was an odd staccato _tnmp, tnmp, tnmp_ sound, like sharp metal on wood, coming towards him. He lifted his head and saw Valentine and his bodyguard approaching. Eggsy glanced at their feet, and blinked. The bodyguard had metal prosthetics, almost like running-legs, but with a sharp rod straight down the middle. Eggsy didn’t want to know how she’d got those. So he looked up again.

“Hello,” he said simply, too tired to do more than keep a pleasant tone and an amiable expression on his face.

“S’up!” Valentine replied, smiling charmingly and holding out his hand. Eggsy shook it, noting that it was, as Galahad had instructed him, a “proper gentleman’s handshake”. “Richmond Valentine. Just wanted to say that that was a fantastic performance.”

“Gary Unwin. Thank you, sir. Been practicing.” He tried on a smile of his own. It was good enough.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Valentine sprung his reason for coming. “I met your momma a few days ago,” he began, “And she said you sang here every night. So, I thought,” he spread his arms and grinned, “We’re in town, we got nothin’ to do, we’d come by. You did the music justice, _I_ think.”

“Uh… thank you, sir,” Eggsy repeated, confused over his own confusion. Shouldn’t he be glad, or proud? Why did mum tell Valentine where he worked? Did it matter? It was done, and now he had to own it.

“Just Valentine,” Valentine insisted.

Eggsy forced an easy smile. “Alright. Call me Eggsy, then.”

Valentine laughed, and Eggsy’s smile—reluctantly—became a little more authentic. “Eggsy, I like it! Listen, man, I’m havin’ a party in a couple weeks, an’ I got a DJ, but I want a singer too. Someone who can cover lotsa contemporary _and_ oldies. You interested?”

Later, Eggsy would be furious with himself, and call himself ten kinds of a fool, for what he did in that moment. Without thinking, without considering anyone else’s plans or thoughts or feelings, he answered, “Oh, definitely!”

~~~\0/~~~

“Oh god, I’m sorry, that was so fuckin’ stupid, I know I said I’d help you, fuck, I’m sorry—“

“No, no, it’s alright,” Harry reassured Eggsy, a bit alarmed by this outburst. He’d been a little suspicious and confused when Valentine and Gazelle had approached the stage instead of leaving; but he’d stayed after before, so no one thought his remaining in his seat was odd. It was only when they left, and Eggsy had come straight to Harry’s table instead of talk to any of his coworkers, that Harry had made the split decision to not follow them. He could find the stir of Valentine’s presence at any time; Eggsy’s expression had been more concerning. And that temporary mic he’d managed to drop in just the right place for Valentine to step on it would record and send every syllable to his home terminal, for later analysis.

He was getting sloppy, and lazy, but he’d managed to convince himself that talking to Eggsy was just as important—and it turned out that the lazy part of his brain was right. He hated when it did that.

“I have to tell Roxy,” Eggsy was saying, as they tramped up the stairs, and his face held the look of a prisoner going to meet his fate at the executioner’s hands. Harry told himself it was just the dramatic tendencies of the young, but that was uncomfortable, so he focused on listening to Eggsy. “She’s gonna be so fuckin’ pissed. We only just got back from the Murder Party—and I promised to sing at Christy’s wedding, and mum wants to meet up later, and I don’t know what to tell Jamal and Ryan—“

Harry wrapped his arm around Eggsy’s shoulder and interrupted firmly, “Yes, you will do all these things. But first, you are going to tell Roxy that you have accepted an offer for a solo assignment—in three weeks. That will be plenty of time to arrange something to cover your absence. And when you have told her that, you are going to clean up and go to bed, before you fret yourself into a fever. ”

Eggsy put his arm around Harry’s waist, narrowing his eyes up at him. Harry met his gaze calmly, and quirked one eyebrow. Eggsy’s eyes opened very wide, and he looked relieved and triumphant.

“So it _is_ them,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Harry confirmed softly, opening the door to the lounge. “And while I am delighted that you have ingratiated yourself so soon, there is a small problem.”

Eggsy’s face fell. “You have to leave,” he guessed, arm tightening around Harry.

A quick glance around showed no watchers, so Harry kissed Eggsy’s temple. “Yes. I’ll send you flowers every day.”

Eggsy wrinkled his nose. “You don’t need to send them _every_ day,” he protested, but not very forcefully.

“Every other day, then.”

“I’m trying to grow some of my own, so—“

“I assume you’ve come to tell me what Valentine spoke to you about?” Roxy asked tiredly from behind them.

They stepped apart immediately. Harry turned smoothly; Eggsy jerked around, his expression somewhere between irritated and guilty. Roxy’s arms were clasped around her clipboard, pressed to her chest. Harry thought she looked far too stressed and tired for her age.

“Um, yeah,” Eggsy answered her, then, seeming to notice the same thing, “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Roxy sighed. “Come on, let’s talk in my office.”

They went into her office and closed the door. Harry chose a seat in the middle of the three circles, leaned his umbrella against the table, and sat back to wait.

A gentle tap to the side of his glasses, and he could hear Valentine and Gazelle speaking softly. Their voices were muffled, but audible. Harry set himself to listening closely.

~~~\0/~~~

Dee curled in the center of her blanket-nest in her pillow-fort and clutched her head, whimpering at the pain in her skull. She should _never_ have tried to listen to their Music. _God_ , she was such an idiot. Did that mess with Detective Murdoch do nothing to teach her about murderers?

 _She_ , so sharp, sharp and cold, sharp and cold as her legs—and _him_ , he of the empty compassion, of the love of Nature and hate of Man. Dee understood them—and that hurt worse than their Music.

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t. This Time was too hateful, too hurtful. She could hear her own Music faltering.

She wept.

~~~\0/~~~

Galahad seemed preoccupied, gazing off into the distance with a grimly thoughtful expression. But he softened enough to kiss Eggsy one more time and promise to send him seeds as well as bouquets. Then he spoke softly to Roxy, and then he left.

Eggsy scowled to hide his disappointment—would one more night really have made that much of a difference?—and gave Roxy a hug before he went upstairs. He felt guilty for leaving her there with so much work, but he wasn’t sure if he could help, and he wasn’t good company when he was pouting.

He was better at admitting things now. He knew he was being a pouty child whose favorite sweets had been taken away, but he still wasn’t sure how to fix it. Well, for now, he’d wallow in it, and think resentful thoughts at everyone involved in this situation.

He did not put away the lilo. What if Galahad came back tomorrow?

He showered, dressed in pajamas, and checked his email on his new laptop (impulse-bought four days ago); and there was a message from the Valentine Corporation, with a list of songs that Valentine thought would be good for the anniversary party. It, ah, it was a very long list.

Eggsy looked at it, and decided not to bother right then. So he turned off the laptop, slid down under the blankets, and had imaginary conversations in his head with Galahad. He left his hand hanging off the edge of the bed, too.

He woke at noon, strangely not as miserable as he’d expected to be. He wasn’t even annoyed, or resigned. He frowned, opened his eyes, turned his head.

There was a vase of gardenias on his bedside table, and one tiny rosebud had begun to open.

Eggsy’s frown melted and he began to smile.


	11. The one where things start to go wrong

_[Excerpt from G.’s personal dossiers, translated]_

NAME: James Duvere  
SEX: Male  
APPEARANCE: 1.87 m; brown eyes/hair; Caucasian; strong chin; about 54 y.o.  
NATIONALITY: British  
OCCUPATION: UK armed forces, retired  
THREAT: Possible  
NOTES:  
                Claims no siblings or cousins, parents dead, grandparents dead or missing. Bachelor. Routine- and pattern-oriented. Net-worth unknown, but possibly around two, three billion. Lives in London, England. More information forthcoming.

NAME: Gary Unwin, “Eggsy”  
SEX: Male  
APPEARANCE: 1.78 m; gray-green eyes, brown hair; Caucasian; square face; about 25 y.o.  
NATIONALITY: British  
OCCUPATION: Singer at the Golden Web, nightclub  
THREAT: None  
NOTES:  
                Mother, Michelle Baker; sister, Daisy Baker; stepfather, Dean Baker. Has one lover, identity unknown. Is known for aggression and drinking ability. Lower class, some Marines training. Lives in London, England. Valentine has hired him for the Anniversary Ball. Sings well enough. More information forthcoming.

NAME: Galahad  
SEX: Unknown  
APPEARANCE: Unknown  
OCCUPATION: Spy/assassin  
NATIONALITY: Unknown  
THREAT: High  
NOTES:  
                Must convince Valentine to take this threat seriously. Damn that man’s innocence. I am so close to finding this Galahad, so close. When I find them, I will make them pay for what they did. And then I will tear their organization apart.

_[End excerpt]_

~~~\0/~~~

The three weeks to Valentine’s party were torture.

First, Dee sent him a short note that she had to leave, that he shouldn’t try to contact her, and that he shouldn’t expect contact from her end. She sent it with a box of ten glass jars, neatly hand-labeled, of different teas with strange names that tasted like ten levels of Heaven. It didn’t help.

Then, mum and Dean had a massive argument, and the police were called, so Eggsy let mum and Daisy move in with him for a while. Mum still wouldn’t let Eggsy get revenge on Dean, no matter how much he begged. At least Daisy had stopped crying at night after the first few days.

And then Wallas left. Just… left. He sent a note to Roxy, who gathered the band in the meeting room to read it to them. All it said was basically that he needed time to recover his nerves; Eggsy hadn’t known Wallas had such severe anxiety until it was spelled out in the note.

Erin and Aaron were called home; their mother was ill and wanted to see them. Erin cried when she broke the news. Aaron tried to be cheerful, but his fear was just as plain. Eggsy barely made it to the airport to say goodbye.

Mari’s elder sister died, and she went into deep, deep mourning. Roxy sent her home for a time.

With the band so reduced, nights were a sad affair, and Eggsy found himself increasingly dragooned into being DJ, which he had little experience with. Ryan was very helpful with that, although he refused to set foot in the club itself.

Flowers came, with notes, and sometimes little presents, but it just wasn’t the same.

Sometimes Eggsy thought that if one more thing changed for the worst, he was going to jump into the Thames with a brick around his neck. But then Daisy would come pat his face and say “Don’t, don’t,” and he’d have to reassure her that everything was alright, nothing was going to hurt her, no one was going anywhere. Daisy and mum and the flowers were the things keeping him sane.

One day, Roxy called a meeting with the band, and when they’d all sat down, she announced quietly, “I just received confirmation from Mr. Hesketh, Charlie’s father. He claims we’re a net loss. He wants to let some of you go.”

There was a deep silence.

Sadie stood, walked up the table, kissed Roxy’s cheek, and left the room. Bethany jumped up and ran after Sadie, but the boys and Roxy looked at one another and read the same bleak thought in all of their eyes.

The band didn’t play that night. There was barely any band left, once Sadie, Bethany, and Cedric turned in their notices. Owen and Adio stayed, but they were transferred to Floor staff, leaving Eggsy as the only remnant of one of the greatest acts in London. And Eggsy stayed in his room, curled up on his bed with the pillow over his head, trying to repress every iota of emotion—because if he let even one tear escape, he knew he’d fall to pieces.

The party was in two days.

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy had nightmares now, of being trapped in a room no bigger than a wardrobe, walled with broken mirrors. Every time she pushed on the pieces of glass, whether with her hands or arms or feet or knees, huge gashes would appear on her skin, and she would bleed and bleed and bleed. Sometimes she saw people in the glass, but they were never close enough to make out their faces. She realized later that they had no faces.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry leaned on the wall outside the family tomb and turned his face up, letting the rain pretend to be tears. He himself was completely dry-eyed; but his mother’s cousins expected him to grieve, and so he must pretend.

He was not sorry his mother was dead. At least now she wouldn’t have to deal with her husband’s rapidly progressing dementia.

“Where’s Alice?” demanded Harry’s father, his voice harsh and croaking, eyes dark with anger. “Stayed home, eh? Too good to come to her mother’s own funeral, eh?”

“She’s dead, father,” Harry told the old man frankly. He was holding his umbrella over his father, sunken in his wheelchair, parked outside because he couldn’t stand the crowd. “This is _her_ funeral.”

“Nonsense,” his father snorted. “Alice is hale as a horse. She’s still kicking, why should she pretend otherwise?”

Given that Alice had been bedridden for a whole year before her death, Harry always marveled at his father’s insistence that she was healthier than she’d ever been. How far had he gone back?

“And where’s my boy, Harry?” Harry’s father snapped. “School or not, he should be here.”

“ _I’m_ Harry, father,” Harry repeated.

“Can’t be, you’re too tall,” father grunted, gnarled hands clenching in his lap. “My boy’s a scrap. He’ll grow, though. Got high hopes for him. Most intelligent in his class, _and_ he’s a fighter. A man can be proud of a son like that.”

Harry closed his eyes against a strange burning sensation. His father rambled on, staring out at the rain and the graveyard.

“Alice, she loves talking about him. Put her in a room with any other mother, she’ll always get around to bragging about him. Going to be a great man, my Harry, she’ll say. A great man.”

The burning increased, and something escaped from Harry’s eyes.

“Where is Alice?”

Harry’s throat felt tight. So he whispered, “She left early. I suppose she’s sleeping now.”

His father snorted, but he was nodding off, bundled up as he was. “I’ll have to tell her how it went when we get home,” the old man muttered.

Harry just nodded, letting rain mingle with tears.

~~~\0/~~~

Tristan appeared the day before Eggsy was to pack up and leave, and dragged Eggsy down to Saville Row, ignoring his increasingly panicky protests and talking over him, telling him how Galahad had ordered three more suits made, and after a final fitting, when the tailors released him to finish their work, Arthur had commanded Eggsy be brought to him for instruction.

“But I’ve got enough clothes,” Eggsy protested, “And Galahad already told me what to do.” Meaning Galahad had sent him a letter along with a box of terracotta planters for his flowers.

“Arthur thinks he won’t do a good enough job,” Tristan replied bluntly. He was always very blunt; that was why Roxy and Eggsy liked him. “It’s all over Kingsman, how he’s got a thing for you. Don’t worry, the rest of us don’t care; Galahad’s eccentric even for us, and he’s a good man. But he gets strange about involving people in things they shouldn’t know about, so Arthur wants to make sure you’ve got the basics down.”

Eggsy wondered what “gets strange” meant, but he didn’t get to ask, because they had arrived at their destination and Tristan was alighting from the vehicle.

The tailors—Eggsy had never had occasion to ask their names, and they’d never told him outright—had not three, but _four_ different suits, all different styles, all tastefully subdued fabric that felt a little heavier than it should be; and they all fit perfectly, so Eggsy stood stiff and awkward as the tailors frowned and tsked and tweaked and asked him politely but firmly to not hunch his shoulders so they could get a proper fit. He didn’t argue with them.

When that was done and they allowed him to put on his own clothing again, Tristan hustled him up the stairs, down a short hall, through a wide double door—and into a place like a dining room, with Arthur the Dough Man plumped right at the head of the table.

Eggsy’s hands curled into fists, but he kept his arms at his sides and made his face, if not pleasant, at least not aggressive.

“Hello, Eggsy,” Arthur said coolly.

“Hello,” Eggsy replied.

“I assume you know why I asked you here.”

“Galahad told me. You want me to help spy on Valentine.”

“That is the essence of it, yes. I—“

“You want me to act like a smokescreen. I’m supposed to seem “too curious”, so they’ll think I’m the one to watch. I’m to ask about Valentine’s future plans and products, and gather as much as I can on what kind of security he’s got. You don’t want me talking to his guests because you think they’ll all be classist snobs who hate plebs like me.”

Tristan grinned. Arthur blinked, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Bravo,” he applauded. “Although I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Eggsy muttered, a little too loud. But Arthur pretended not to hear.

“Galahad has procured himself an invitation as James Duvere. It would be best if you did not, ah, let on—“

“Let on that he’s my boyfriend?” Eggsy interrupted.

Now Arthur frowned a little. “Yes,” he confirmed stiffly.

“Great. Got it. Nice talking to you.”

And Eggsy turned and left the room.

Tristan rushed after him and grabbed his arm before he got further than the top step, but Eggsy turned and hissed, “I ain’t staying in that fuckin’ toad’s presence a single fuckin’ second longer. He’s polluting my air.”

Tristan gaped at him, utterly astonished. Eggsy yanked out of his grip and stalked down the stairs.

“No wonder Harry likes you.”

The corner of Eggsy’s mouth twitched.

~~~\0/~~~

Roxy was napping when Charlie burst into her office.

“I _demand_ —“ he began loudly, but froze and shut up when Roxy popped upright and pointed a gun at his head.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, a bit muzzy from sleep, and let her arms drop so her pistol instead rested on the desk. “I thought you were in Spain.”

Charlie stared at the pistol. Roxy sighed and hid it in her lap again. She’d taken to sleeping with it in easy reach. Both Merlin and Tristan had been acting jumpy, and that made her nervous. It wasn’t very likely she’d be attacked here, of all places; but it never hurt to be careful.

Only when her hands were back in sight, empty, did Charlie answer her. “I was, until father told me he’d fired all my staff,” he grumped, flopping down in the chair across from Roxy’s desk. He gave her a nervous look, and she sighed again.

“It wasn’t all of them. Some are on leave, two have been reassigned—and yes, Eggsy’s still here. He’s gotten a solo gig at Valentine’s Anniversary Ball, so he’ll be away for a few days, but he _is_ coming back.” Roxy paused, eyeing Charlie, waiting for him to explode. But all he did was stare at the mug of pens, pensive. Plotting.

“…No,” she said flatly.

“No one asked you,” Charlie retorted, finally looking up again.

“No, because you _know_ it’s wrong! It’s called _stalking_ , Charlie, and for all the shit you’ve pulled, I expected better from you!” Roxy snarled, hands clenching into fists, ready to beat Charlie’s face in if she had to. “Just because you want to fuck him doesn’t mean you get to abuse and stalk him! Why do I even still put up with you!” She stood abruptly, catching her pistol before it hit the floor, yanking her coat off the stand in the corner—Charlie jumped to his feet and blocked her from leaving.

“I don’t want to fuck him!” Charlie shouted, “I want _him_! And it is _not_ stalking, it’s making sure he doesn’t get hurt—“

“Oh, yes, because threatening him and Galahad isn’t hurting him at _all_ —“

“I’m not threatening, if that fucking old bastard would just leave—“

“He’s not going to, so just fucking _let it go_ —“

They shouted each other for a good five minutes, but it did not relieve Roxy’s temper in the least, so she roundhouse-kicked Charlie in the stomach, and when he stumbled and folded up, groaning, she grabbed his hair and kneed him right in the face. That didn’t help either, though he did fall over, screaming threats and curses and clutching his broken nose. Roxy stepped over him and stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind her and wishing savagely that Charlie would just go crawl into a dark hole and rot.

Then in the lift she buried her face in her hands and let herself cry for a moment.

When the doors opened, her face was dry and composed, and her anger only showed in the steel of her spine and the briskness of her walk.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy stepped inside the plane and immediately wanted to jump back out.

When Valentine had said he’d take care of Eggsy’s ticket, he’d assumed it would be just a seat in coach; something befitting his status as a mere entertainer. He’d begun to be suspicious when he was met at the gate by two very tall, very burly men in black, who knew exactly who he was and where he was going; and he was even more suspicious when he realized the three of them were the only people boarding.

He couldn’t run, though, because the two men were behind him, and he refused to show weakness in front of strangers. So he stepped inside as if he knew this was only his due, and looked around casually before choosing the couch, stretching his legs out fully in front of him for a moment before crossing his ankles and opening his rucksack, which had been searched thoroughly by both airport security and the men in black. It held his box of tapes from Dee, a Walkman, the book she’d left him, and a Rubik’s cube.

Eggsy pulled out the cube and began to twist it in a seemingly random pattern, letting his eyes unfocus, as if he were just messing with it for something to do. Of course he wasn’t. Merlin would kill him if he “just messed” with this particular cube.

It had taken Eggsy two weeks to master the cube’s code, but now he was fluent in it, and even tensed and nervous, he made no mistakes. This was one of Merlin’s pet projects: twisting in certain directions sent different patterns, but he also had to pay attention to the colors, what configuration they were each in on all six sides; and when he had the correct configuration made with the right twists, he paused for exactly three seconds, letting the cube send his message back to Merlin, before starting the next string of code. He was sure the men in black, sitting in chairs with their eyes on him, would notice the pauses; but he was also sure that, without the code, it’d be nigh impossible to guess what his messages were.

He was describing the jet, interior and exterior, and the men in black. He let his gaze wander, vaguely curious, and took down every detail. By the time he’d finished, he had to pee. So he stood up, jamming the cube in his pocket with a thoughtless air, as if he was so used to carrying it with him everywhere that it was just habit now, and asked, “So where’s the bog?”

The men in black glanced at each other, vaguely confused. Eggsy repressed a weary sigh. Americans. “The toilet,” he clarified.

The blond man jerked his thumb at a door at the back of the jet. Eggsy said, “Thanks,” because he was raised to have good manners around people capable of snapping his neck with just one hand, and strode to the door, a little nonplussed to realize his feet made absolutely no noise on the thick white carpet. That meant the men in black would be silent as well.

He expected the spotless luxury of clean white porcelain and tan tiles, and the mirror, and the fluffy hand towels and chrome-colored soap dish; what he had not expected was the painting on the wall.

A willow pattern vase holding a bouquet of both pink roses and white gardenias, on a dark wooden surface with a white-and-gold striped background and dusty golden light coming from the top left. It looked so lifelike, he could almost smell the flowers and fancied he’d feel them when he touched it.

It was a good thing he’d closed the door and locked it, because when his fingertips touched cold glass, not soft petals, he started to cry. And he realized that the faint perfume on the air was the soap—scented of gardenias.

He sat down hard on the toilet and buried his face in his hands, shaking with silent sobs, as tears crawled down his face. If Valentine had been trying to unmake him, he’d succeeded.

When he had himself under control, he took out the Rubik’s cube and described the room, taking comfort in the familiar motions. He thought of Merlin, and Roxy, and Erin and Sadie and Owen and Adio and Samantha and Ryan and Jamal and mum and Daisy, and he smiled. It was a tiny, trembling sort of smile, but it was a smile. His tears stopped. He set the cube gently on the counter beside the sink, stood, and pissed. Then he washed his hands, with soap; now the scent comforted him, a piece of familiarity in this cold, strange place.

He mustn’t get too comfortable, though. He had a duty to his family, and his friends, and Galahad. Possibly his country, too. So he put the cube in his pocket and went back out. He was determined not to cry any more. And he didn’t.

The men in black looked like they hadn’t moved; but Eggsy was fairly sure his rucksack had not been slumped in that direction when he left. He glanced at the men in black; he saw that they had seen him see, and guess. They still looked inscrutable, but now there was a faint air of tension to them.

He couldn’t help himself. He inquired genially, “Find what you were looking for?”

The blond man’s eyes narrowed as the red-head’s widened. Other than those two twitches, their faces stayed rigid and cold.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Eggsy flopped back down on the couch, took out the cube… and could think of nothing to say. So he frowned at it, then, as if he were bored with it, he tossed the cube back in his bag and instead pulled out his book.

The flight was only a few hours. But it felt like an eternity, trying to pretend he was just a normal person and this was just a normal journey. He couldn’t even talk to the men in black. Not that he really wanted to, but it would have been nice.

He took a nap, stretched out on the couch with his rucksack as a pillow; not because there weren’t any other pillows—in fact there was an over-abundance of them—but because he was suspicious and nervy, and when you are suspicious and nervy and your guards know it, it’s useless to pretend you’re _not_ suspicious and nervy. Eggsy was very sure these men had been briefed on exactly who he was and what his past was like, and if they were at all intelligent, they would assume such a past had made him suspicious of everything, even when he had nothing to hide. Which was true, actually.

He didn’t sleep well. But it _was_ sleep. And when he was woken by the red-head, he was, if not refreshed, then a little more ready to take on the world.

They disembarked single-file, with the blond man in black leading and the red-headed man following Eggsy. He didn’t really mind, or even notice; he was craning his neck, baffled, trying to figure out where the hell they were.

It was a private runway, that was obvious, surrounded by trees and parkland; and the air smelt of sea and greenery and rain; and the building quite near was an interesting design; and the sky was open and deep and free-standing. Eggsy quickly looked down, already missing his beautiful city, and saw that a small cart, almost like a golf cart, was waiting at the bottom of the steps; and leaning on it with a huge grin on his face was Valentine. His bodyguard—Merlin had told Eggsy her name was Gazelle—sat in the cart, behind the wheel, watching Eggsy with half-closed eyes. It was like being greeted by a semi-domesticated, good-natured wolf and a patient panther.

“Hey, Eggsy!” Valentine called, pushing off from the cart and raising his arms, “How was the flight?”

“Hell of a lot better than I was expecting,” Eggsy answered honestly, grinning back. When Blond Guard stepped aside and let Eggsy off the stair, Valentine drew him into a brief, actually quite warm, hug. He barely had time to be astonished before Valentine let go, put his arm around Eggsy’s shoulders, and led him to the cart.

Eggsy learned the reason for this familiarity when he was squished between Valentine and Gazelle and the cart zoomed like a kid’s go-kart towards the building.

“Phew!” Valentine sighed, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “That’s the last time we hire out. Suspicious activity my _ass_. Those guys didn’t give you any trouble on the flight over, did they?”

“Nope, not at all,” Eggsy replied. He decided not to mention the plundering of his rucksack.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Gazelle murmured, the corner of her mouth curling upwards ever so slightly.

Eggsy repressed a shiver.

It was a bit of a blur, the unloading, the being led on a tour of the house, the details of what Valentine had planned; Eggsy, unable to fiddle with his Rubik’s cube, murmured some apology and pulled out a pair of glasses Merlin had given him. They’d tested them last week, and though Eggsy knew their main function was to gather visual and auditory information, they also had some sort of glaze or tech that showed him colors properly. He hadn’t even known he was colorblind until he put them on. It gave him a new appreciation for the color green.

But it was truly fascinating, this house on the cliff; he started to forget that he was supposed to spy, and showed actual, genuine, innocent interest in how the house was built, how long it had taken, what protections there were against sea storms. The biggest space, the one the main party would take place in, was actually a very large floor, bigger than the club, with a nearly 100-foot ceiling, and a balcony or loft area over half of it at fifty feet or so. The entire outer wall was glass—or a substance _like_ glass. It showed a calm blue-green sea and an eye-piercingly blue sky. Eggsy shuddered and looked away.

The balcony was at ground level, and the cliff-side wall below had been allowed to remain bare rock. The floors at both levels were carpeted, with wooden dance areas, and there was plenty of seating near the four bars; Eggsy liked that immensely. The rest of the house was mostly just a spacious home, with open floor plans, several guest rooms, lots of quiet places for people to take a breather, amazingly innovative tech in every room (Eggsy could just imagine Merlin’s envious sighs and longing glances), and two well-stocked kitchens. It was a good place. Eggsy found himself wishing Valentine really was a good, innocent person, because he could not see the designer of this comfortable home as a psychopath or criminal. Of course, that’s how most psychopaths and criminals get away with their crimes.

There were guesthouses, but Eggsy would not be staying in any of them. No, he had a spacious room here, in the main house, because Valentine liked him just that much. Or was just that suspicious of him. Eggsy would’ve liked to believe the former, but the latter was much more probable.

As Valentine finished the tour at Eggsy’s room, Gazelle tapped his arm and announced, “The first of the guests has arrived.”

“Oh shit! I’ll go let ‘em in.” Valentine clapped Eggsy on the shoulder with a grin and strode away, tucking his hands in his pockets. Eggsy looked at Gazelle. Gazelle looked at Eggsy.

Then, very quietly, Gazelle said, “So what’s your connection to Mr. James Duvere?”

“Dunno that name,” Eggsy retorted, just as quietly. “Dunno a lot of people’s names. Not part of the job.”

Gazelle’s eyes narrowed just a titch. Then she raised her chin, gave a thin, frosty smile, and walked away.

Eggsy stood still in front of his door, watching her go, wondering how the hell he was going to get _anything_ past her.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry almost didn’t recognize Eggsy, walking so confidently in his new suit with his hair so neatly combed and tortoiseshell glasses firmly on his face. The moment he did, however, Harry’s conversational partner (a middle-aged woman with unfortunate taste in colors) leaned over and whispered excitedly, “Oh, that’s the singer Mr. Valentine’s invited. Apparently he’s got a voice like an angel. He is so _cute_ , I don’t think I care what his voice sounds like.”

“Mm,” Harry replied, sipping his cocktail.

He was bored. Barely three hours, and he’d already located every guard, every camera, and possibly every spy of Valentine’s, the people who watched other watchers very closely. Harry had not located every mic, but that was expected. Mics would actually be quite ridiculous in a crowd this size, but, well, you never knew with sociopaths.

None of the people he’d conversed with were very sparkling, either. Most of the invitees were American, few were less than famous, and all of them were avid conservationists. Harry had nothing against them—he, too, worried a bit more about the health of the planet than most of his peers—but it got so boring. What he wouldn’t give to meet someone actually interesting.

Although… if he were very careful… perhaps…

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Harry’s neon-clad companion offered brightly.

Harry answered before he could stop himself. “Alright.”

So they set off through the crowd towards where Eggsy was chatting with a bartender. Harry knew this was mostly because the woman was bored of Harry, too, and saw this as a good way to get rid of him—which he did not mind in the least. But he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. Had she guessed? Had she seen it on Harry’s face? Would anyone notice if…?

The bartender saw the two approaching, excused herself politely, and reached for a glass, smiling. Eggsy turned, saw Harry—and showed no sign that he recognized him.

Relief crashed through Harry, but there was no time for that. His companion had begun introductions. “Gary, I want you to meet someone! This is James Duvere. Mr. Duvere, Gary Unwin.”

“How do you do,” Harry said quietly, extending his hand.

Eggsy smiled politely and shook his hand exactly how Harry had taught him. “How do you do. I told you, Miranda, just call me Eggsy,” he said to the woman in neon, with a touch of humor.

Miranda waved her hand and laughed lightly, though she blushed and almost wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And _I_ told _you_ , I am not available for flirtations. Oh, dear, Barry seems to have gotten into a knot of political tension again. If you’ll excuse me—ooh, thank you,” as the bartender handed her a light, fruity drink. “Ta ta!”

And Miranda whisked away, leaving Eggsy and Harry to stand at the bar in silence.

“Um,” said Eggsy.

“Hm,” said Harry.

“Would you like another drink, sir?” the bartender asked Harry politely.

He looked down and was a little surprised to see his glass was empty. “No, thank you.” Eggsy stepped aside to let Harry place the glass on the bar, and twisted something on his wrist, hidden by his sleeve; Harry caught a glint of silver, a flash of sapphire blue. His face showed nothing, but he couldn’t help feeling glad to see it.

“You’re a singer?” he asked; not a mumble, but not loudly, either.

“Yessir,” Eggsy replied with a straight face. Harry wanted to frown at him—he could sense how hard Eggsy was trying not to grin—but that would not do. “At the Golden Web in London.”

“Never heard of it,” Harry responded frankly, and with a dismissive air. The Golden Web was nowhere James Duvere’s “set” would be found, after all. “It’s not one of those dreadful nightclubs, is it?”

“It is, sir.” Eggsy’s voice was smooth, but the corner of his mouth was twitching and Harry recognized the gleam in his eye. “It’s not as dreadful as it could be, though. It’s managed by a Morton and owned by the Heskeths, after all.”

Golden names, even in this place. Harry’s attention sharpened—or, he pretended it did. “The Heskeths? I had no idea they were in that line of business.”

“Charlie Hesketh is the owner. Roxanne, though—Roxanne Morton—she’s the manager, she does almost everything.”

“I know the Mortons,” Harry murmured thoughtfully, half to himself. “Wonderful family, very efficient. I’ve no doubt she’s got everything in hand, if that scoundrel Charlie is pretending to be in charge.”

Eggsy’s mask almost broke, but he saved himself by saying quickly, “That she does, sir.”

Harry looked at him, still thoughtful; Eggsy looked back, his eyes showing the laughter he was hiding so well. Then Harry announced, “Pardon me, but my knees are not what they used to be. Shall we sit down?”

~~~\0/~~~

Gazelle watched the party below from the balcony. Well, she watched two of their number.

The Unwin boy was sitting with Duvere, and they appeared to be having quite an intense discussion. Interesting, since Duvere had gone through perhaps six or seven people, apparently finding none of them as stimulating as he could’ve wished, and Unwin had purposefully circulated without actually spending much time with anyone longer than it took to be introduced.

Perhaps Unwin was looking for someone to manipulate, someone who would let him wheedle his way into their… protection. Perhaps he was simply bored and had no common interests with anyone. But why, then, would he sit with Duvere, their heads so close together, like old friends? Surely the elder man was shrewd enough to know if he was being manipulated. And surely they would have very little in common.

And yet…

Gazelle narrowed her eyes as a thought came to her. She didn’t like the thought; it presented far too many difficulties. But perhaps she could use it to her advantage. Yes… she could use it. If it were true, she could use it very effectively.

Gazelle smiled. She loved a good game of cat-and-mouse. And this game would end with the cat as victor.


	12. a short notice

I am so so so sorry for not saying anything earlier, but my flashdrive with the last few chapters locked up a couple weeks ago, and I'm not going to be getting any of the data back until sometime in December at the earliest. I forgot to back up the files, so I only have a partial chapter that I can't actually finish without the others. Again, I am so very sorry. I have not forgotten this story! It's still going in the back of my mind! I just can't update for a bit.

 

Hugs,

-NK


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